Pre-Summer Fling - Poem

 Pre-Summer Fling

You hurt me, you know.

Hurt a lot of people, I guess,

hurt them worse than me.

I know what we had

was just a pre-summer fling.

I know I should’ve had low expectations.

Still, when you’d told me what we’d done

what we’d accomplished,

it felt like the world was ours…

…Whatever.

I still think of you

(I mean, obviously,

I’m writing this poem,

gross),

when I pass by the spot we used to live.

It feels so empty without you,

the grass too green.

I trace with my eyes the curve of your shape,

each nook and cranny carved into my muscle memory.

I remember those late night chats I had at the north rock,

the walks in the dark,

how scared we were when distant lights flashed,

at least at first.

You held me so tight when we slept,

but, frankly,

we did so little sleeping.

I don’t mean to be blunt, I really don’t,

but that first day, god,

you had me so wet.

Oh well.

I dismantled you,

took you apart

piece by piece. 

I shouldn’t feel bad—

it was just a pre-summer fling.

It’s pre-summer again, Spring, 

I guess,

and I wish I didn’t still need you.

Maybe it’s for the better.

You took my copy of the Dao De Jing

(annotated, by the way),

and I don’t think I’m ever getting that back.