Him.
We are friends then lovers
Not lovers, but kissing, touching
Whispering sweet nothing’s
That mean nothing.

His hands find me below but
Never reach deep enough
They make me moan
But his words keep me crying.

I feel a pang every time he tells me about someone new
But I still laugh along, still texting my other man

The lines are so blurred I don’t know where
We end and we begin
I find myself echoing his thoughts
But changing them last minute to seem cool.

Him
We are friends then lovers
Not lovers, but kissing, touching
Whispering sweet nothing’s
That mean nothing.

To him.