A Text Conversation

You ask,
"What are you wearing?"

Texts weigh heavy with loneliness
And there aren't enough new ways for me to say that I'm missing you.
That answer is complex.
Or rather,
My pride too egotistical.

I answer,
"Your sweater,
Black leggings,
My 'fancy' brown ankle boots,
A reluctant smile,
And your breath...
You know,
The usual."

The words come easier then our kisses in empty rooms
Or our laughter in crowded restaurants.

You answer,
"I wanna see a pic."

Lost words trapped behind my teeth,
I want to tell you a picture couldn't proclaim enough.
Couldn't show how I laid last night,
In the palms of my bed,
Curled up into myself,
Barely allowing my body to be held by a strange man.
His hands weren't strong enough to store me by his side.
But his back would've been my support in another life.

His kisses could've licked my wounds clean if I would've laid them open.
But I was too woman for that.
Too strong to be open.
And I will never love him like that,
With expectant smiles and future plans.
Don't know if I can ever be that soft space for a man to call home again.

He is shy touches and deep glances.
Soft spoken.
And almost comfortable.

But I am uncomfortable.
Wondering if I stink of the women I allow to move through my throat,
Or if he can spot your flowers on my alter.

I am moving with secrets.
Covering up old lovers with open legs and closed arms.

My secrets,
This magic in my eye,
Your prescence,
Couldn't be seen in a picture I'd send with my phone.