The Enemy

The torment of being friends with an ex lover.

Your lips move freely and with point,
Productiveness and honesty.
You never say anything you don’t mean
And all I can concentrate on is the fact that
Your lips are not moving against mine.
But I’m still here, listening to every word you say
Whilst dreaming of those lips
And trying to recall each time they pursed and moved towards mine.
I can smell the sweet odour of you, next to me
And when you talk, I allow your breath
To enter my mouth and it’s almost like,
I can just about taste you,
Just about feel you; you’re so close.
Your hand moves and its resting above my head
Under your pillow. If this was four months ago
You’d wrap your arm around my waist;
And that tormenting hand above me would be playing with my hair.

I would be able to at least believe you were looking at me.
The way I think you still look at me.
They way I know you never really looked at me
The way I have always looked at you.