A minute

A Minute

I miss you again.
Seems I am alright for
what the kids call
'a minute'.
Then I remember your touch,
your skin.
Always before I fell short
when it came to leaving you.
Lately I just pretend and push.
Still it's seeps, like a bad paint job
in the kitchen might allow grease
or nicotine to stream down
as if the walls were finally crying
from years of being covered
in shitty paint.