Poem | The Past Us

The past us
would've clawed at sheets and clung to skin,
not content until the scent was merged
and all was bare.

Now the bed is not cold but
burns as we pull away irritated
by touch and held hands only tug and nip,
so we turn away.

The Past us,
we would've talked this through
cross-legged on your bed at 2:15pm on a
sunday.

But now 'your goddamn leg hair is just too itchy and
why do you keep looking at me like that?
I'm getting a drink'.

The past Us,
they would kiss inspite of all the clumsiness and
laugh through, embrace through, love through,
trying to keep on.

But slopes slip down the same as corners of  mouths,
and do I miss you now we're gone?