equilateral squares, boxes fused together. sentimental love songs were reduced to pixels. if i went to rehab i wouldn’t tell tales of water bongs and drinking games, but about how you would kiss patterns across my jaw line, down my neck, how you smelled better than coke, and left a stronger taste than whiskey. i would dream of your fingers filling the spaces, having your breath hot on my face, the burning impression you leave between my legs.  i’ll be asking you to close the curtains and hurry to bed so you can wrap your arms around me. i keep touching my lips where you last kissed,  we are in an existential sense, we’re not predicates, unless we are in love.