YOU LIED TO HER

You do not love her.

You love what she can offer you.

But you don’t love her.

You do not know her.

You do not know her mother's name,

and somehow you don’t want to.

You want to feel her skin,

But yet you don’t want to know what’s beneath it.

You want to trace her figure.

But not long enough to question the tattoos

Or the scars you run over like Braille.

She wants to know you.

She wants to know your mother's name before

she touches your skin.

to question the bruises on your back before

leaving marks on your neck.

You think you know her because you took off her dress?

You think you know her enough to not have to ask?

You don't know her.

You may know how it feels to lie by her side,

but you know nothing about her,

about how every time you look into her eyes.

they are hungry for love,

begging to be known,

but you don't love her, and you don't know.

She sees it in the lifelessness behind your eyes

as your fingers linger on her lips.

She lets you memorize the taste of them.

Because part of her hopes in doing so,

she will learn something about you that

touches her heart as you touch her body.