It’s a lie we tell ourselves
And yet I yearn to be the poem you write about
You nod without hesitation
Our backs touching on the bed we share
Imperative of the distance between us
I notice the glow of your phone in the dark
You notice the beeps on mine
As we pretend to be asleep.
How about another happy poem
I ask the next morning
You affirm to me and us to the world
That looks at us differently
How easy it is to mask a lie
And a happy poem
And here they were envious of me
Being the muse in someone else’s poetry.