I read your thoughts like sifting through your cabinets while you were out of the room.
I stole every treasured thought that you had and left you gutted when I could find no more.
You had poems written on the roof of your mouth.
And I had scraped them out with the tip of my tongue and spat them onto the floor,
where they dried up and blew away.
And the butterflies in your stomach were all pinned to the skin on the inside.
And if didn’t love you then, I love you now.