I don’t want her
to ever stop reading
these love-sick words
exclusively for her.
She undresses 
with each new thought
dancing bare top and panties. 
Thinking, 
how in the fuck
did yesterday 
turn into today. 
Face it,
you’re the girl 
with the magical charms
that keeps spinning this web. 
Oh, how she’s forgotten
the power she yields,
she hasn’t felt
for years now. 
Perhaps this is why
I keep a journal
to keep her memory going
so she won’t forget
how it feels
to be someone else’s idol. 
Teetering on lonely 
I pull her back
then push her forward
daring her to jump. 
She glances upward,
so eyes are locked into eyes
there’s nowhere
for her to turn
she has to answer why
love ever mattered to her. 
What difference would it of made
if she never touched
the untouched source?
She wouldn’t care to remember 
how love-sick feels,
all doubled over
hiding her favorite words,
as if, I’m a stranger.  
Yet, she comes here
to secretly snort 
every poem I’ve ever written. 
She needs me
to get her daily fix
of a string of thoughts. 
She promises herself
this will be the last poem,
until she gets the notice
I’ve published again. 
I really then
get stuck in her head
until she’s all strung out
on her bright screen 
reflecting how it feels,
knowing,
I’m the one 
in love 
with her.