how it is when i am no longer in love with you

sure, she said, i saw it happen
how it became okay for you to touch each other
and so it happened more, then
more, your hands on him,
the squeeling laughter, your eyelashes squeezed shut,
and him, lifting you like a velvet blanket

this force, i knew it, felt it, in no gradual progression
but in the moments of rich necessity, your pliant fingers in the tight corners of my neck tissue, you pushing, me sighing, leaning back.

and the looseness of the moment we broke it all,
when i pushed you back over the arm of the sofa,
into white leather, us, polished, fancy jeans,
your hands guiding my hips over the edge,
we tumbled back, people buzzing on all our sides,
i could feel your stomach up and down breathing against mine,
my legs around your waist, i said,
hot and wet in your ear,
this is not worth it unless you really, i push my lips out,
want me,
and what was there in that moment besides
the cheering of the spectators
the languid want, the tingling recollections
of your arm around me when i wake up in your bed, the sunlight and your chest and

and then we're sitting across the table from each other
under the umbrella, under the clouds, you could have
pulled the chair beside me, you know
i feel like my words tumble into nothing halfway across the table,
and i guess it's fine, because I know that now
I can always sit with you on the curb, thinking about other bodies, just
the crackling of the squirrels in the tree branches so high up.
the cold sky, a clean space between us.