Silly Games

I’ve never gotten how

you bite your lip when

you smoke your cigarettes,

your cancer sticks.

Or how the tongue I’d like to take from

you enjoys mocking me daily.

I sit here, sobbing, while your outline 

traces our sheets and our last

fight screams in my head.

You smiled even as I gave you the last

of me. She called again last week.

Whispered your name before the click

of the dial tone leapt at my ear.

You should have seen the heat on my face,

and in my thoughts, and in my eyes.

p.s. This is an revision of an earlier attempt I had made at a sonnet. Here's the first one: My Poor Attempt At a Sonnet