not quite a love letter

it is raining,
when i leave you,
and when you hug me,
bathed in the warm glow
of yellowed bulbs in
your kitchen, i never
want to go

the scent of the
blanket i laid under
clings to my flannel, and
makes me think of you

if i press my nose
to the sleeve, i can
almost convince myself
you’re in the next room

but it’s just me here,
only the pattering rain
for company, still writing
hopeless hopeful hopesick
poetry about a man
i am not in love with anymore

my heart stills knows you, though
looks forward to every time that
we meet again, and you’ll take
me in your arms and remind
me again that i exist

i am as real to you
as the cheap beer slowly warming
in my hand, or the cake i baked
because you asked me to so sweetly,
or that smile of yours that always
feels like it’s just for me

i see you,
and i know that
you see me, too