I cross my fingers behind my back,
swear to god that I don't love you.

The truth is, had you ever gotten in that car,
I was yours for the taking. Stupid, you,

to need without touching, think without feeling.
To let your hope string out across the miles

and hang in tatters along the highway.
But you don't have to twist your fingers

together when you discuss me with whatever
deity helps you drive the demons away.

It's an untarnished halo, crowning your head, angel,
when you say that I don't matter to you anymore.

08/29/2005

Author's Note: & Gabriel, so now what?

Posted on 08/29/2005
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