You tasted like mint toothpaste and
a breath mint, like you knew I would
call you last night when I was
feeling a little
too lonely.
You asked me questions,
wanting to know every minuscule
detail of my life:
My favorite shade of dawn,
what I wanted to be when I was
seven and three quarters,
the third letter of my middle name.
You confessed your love for me
in the car ride back, and I did not
respond.
Your name holds no significance
to my heart.