We would’ve split up over winter break
after 4 months long-distance
and I would’ve bought some Rocky Road®
would’ve blasted some Fleetwood Mac:

“I know I could’ve loved you, but you would not let me.”

You could’ve walked me home, like Seventeen said you could:
could’ve pointed your feet toward me
could’ve raised your eyebrows up
could’ve angled your crotch
like the Calvin Klein® models.
You could’ve protected me with your frame
could’ve found little ways to touch me,
could’ve drunk me in for seconds too long.

This could’ve been forever, or we would’ve settled for right now.

I would’ve bought my first issue of Cosmo the day after
I would’ve seen your dick for the first time
and you would’ve told me to use my mouth
and you would’ve looked at me smug-like
as you tongued what you thought was the spot.
I would’ve moaned like the movie-women who
come right when the movie-men mount them.

I would’ve walked home, a part of what they said it would be.