Sense and Sentimentality

My apologies but it was not love.

It was an itch in my pants --- how unfortunate that you had to be the one to help me scratch it.
And yet, calling to mind a beautiful reason neither you nor I could afford,
I fell into the trappings of it.
Finding ourselves pantsless, the itch had nowhere to go but up,
the way smoke billows like waves licking the heavens,
how you tend to study the sky, regardless the weather,
rather than write on the sidewalk that would eventually lead to me.
Still, you belong in lines drawn in the sand, fleeting, teasing,
your presence an erotic joke cast by the shore, gone by nightfall.
By then I shall have been asleep, dreaming dreams that disappear in the morning.

So no, it wasn't love.
And yes, no need to look miserable when we kiss
or pretend to care about the hurt, an ache I'd rather miss.

---
Because I had just begun reading The Unbearable Lightness of Being.