It's shameful, really

you know how to make me feel
devoid of local heartbeat
your thoughts on distance, difference
and mine ashamed
eager for comfortable silence
and a warm body tether to
the linger of a scented affair
we weep for the gone too quickly

eager in my efforts
to mold in her lost shape
frankness like the weather
controlled by another
what I have lost?
in this sordid tryst
My blank expression explains
what we could not say so plain

I doubt it's your intent
you're erratic though not cruel
yet you know how to make me feel
second rate

I am damaged goods at best.