Thomas W Case

You Don\'t Rub the Back of My Head Anymore

You used to say it was sexy.
You’d get this gleam in your
eyes as you kissed  
me hard on the lips and  
rubbed the back of
my head; but not  
We had our laughter and
drunken songs,
but as always,
the end seeps in.
The poet in me hopes
one motherfucking thing will
last forever.
It started with
complaints, then
resentments and almost
hatred.  It’s sad.
There was a time when
the love was gooey—like  
chocolate in the sun.
We had an amazing
sexual chemistry.
we were like
dogs in heat.
We fucked everywhere:
swimming pools,
the grass,
the beach,
the hospital,
our tent, other people’s tents.
Something was
always missing though, and
sex couldn’t fix it..
The end felt like swans dying,
like butterflies burning.
I always imagined us more
like Bonnie and Clyde than
Romeo and Juliet.
It doesn’t really matter, same ill fate.
Fuck, who were we kidding?
Lovers inevitably get
their turn in hell.