I wanna answer your question.
Because when I told you that this,
what we shared, wasn’t a friendship.
You asked me what we were.
We are nothing,
and everything,
we are broken lovers.
But I can’t call you “friend” with your tongue down my throat,
It gets a little hard to articulate.
Deep throating phallic tongue thrusts,
Attempting to breathe through hormones and the necklace around my neck
restricting our movement to pelvic dives the sunlight has never seen before.
Cave like creatures are we.
No, you and I frolic during day.
It’s something about the "we" that is afraid of the sun,
shies from true love,
and never makes a phone call twice in a row.
There is something about that “we” that translates into nothing.
Neither friend nor lover.
Could you even call it a relationship?
We are nothing.
Because “we” was never meant to be composite Kyle and Dominique.
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