you wore her perfume like a dare—

said it was cheap, CVS, maybe Rite Aid

but it hit me like gym bleachers in '09

when she kissed me under exit signs

with tongue ring and cold hands.

you chewed your straw the same.

kept touching your wrist like the scars might rearrange.

i almost called you by her name.

almost let it slip mid-moan.

mouth full of ghosts.

this isn’t her, but you feel like it

eyes all wrong but the grip’s just right

saying “you good?” when i pause too long

god, you smell like a memory i didn’t pick

this isn’t her, but you feel like it

god damn, you feel like it

and now i can’t feel myself

you cracked your knuckles like it was a threat

or maybe a tell.

had a bandaid on your thumb—

i wanted to ask,

but that felt too much like care

and i only do collapse, not commitment.

your laugh had that same afterburn

like whiskey too cheap to have a label.

this isn’t her, but you feel like it

legs around me like memory foam

moaning into a name that’s not yours

and i let you pretend we had history

this isn’t her, but you feel like it

even when you say “i’m not her”

i still hear her voice in your vowels

i fucked you like an apology

held your face like a trigger

called myself names in my head while i did it

you asked if i wanted to stay and i said no—

but i didn’t leave.

this isn’t her, but you feel like it

even the silence got the same weight

you curled into me like she did once

before she stopped saying goodnight

this isn’t her, but you feel like it

god, you feel like it

and now i hate myself for liking it