Missed

(It's as though I almost know you.)
I know how I looked to those piercing eyes
That I now see right through.
I was just someone you could use,
Just another poet looking for his volunteer muse,
A wallet to cry on and dismember.
Neither first nor last, I'll remember,
From summer's kiss to my last December,
For your lies that enterprised to make me wise.
(That's why we're not together.)

You're back now to pick at the head you can't shrink,
Or the body you said you adore.
You left off taking too soon, you think:
There might be something more.
It wasn't the things you took from me,
But the manner of their giving.
If you really miss the sex and the things,
You missed the point of living.