you have only touched me maybe twice
and i would not recognize your scent
if it pierced my septum so i wore it everywhere
but i remember how you smiled
and in your presence i am a child,
struck dumb and gripping a picture i took of us
of our shoes interlocked as if we were lovers.
i remember you shoving your foot into my face
and how i felt grateful for dark skin because
you couldn’t tell i was blushing like hell
(everyone else, however, could tell)
and the way you tangled your fingers in my hair
like it wasn’t coarse jungle fodder– you made me feel
i was a lion instead of a mangy mutt,
and it was all i could do to keep from rumbling my joy.
i was every king and queen ever loved in your hands
without ever undoing a zipper.
now you’re a stream of facebook statuses
telling me shit about your life without me
and though i was never a part of it,
knowing you’ve forgotten having crafted my crown
has rubbed off the glamour and left me a pauper again.
i don’t know whether to rejoice or resent you.