Still the best way to go

It is not the sibling status
you engaged while your argument of
why we should be called lovers
is still under debate in my mind,
nor is it the abstract paintings you display
of women who have angles where I curve.
They speak languages, share
memories you never allowed us.
Blocked by your open palm,
the same one that called me close.

It is not how you flash the teeth of promise
to strangers before you speak to me,
or how you allowed me to repeat
your deceit again, and again,
when everyone knew the truth.
Of course it had to end.
It is not about blame.
I needed it to end as much as you.

It is just
all these things,
of course it is all of these things
and the railings you broke loose
while taking me from behind
with jaguar precision, grinding out frustration
pounding me with the punishment
for somehow making you want me,
and how I never intended to love you.

Mostly it is just that it was never me you took,
just some image borne of digital imagination
and poetic license. It is just that I know
the reasons you hold me now are generated to pacify,
satisfy, soothe me to sleep as you slip away
in peace.