mediocrity is not for me

perhaps I'm growing bored
with you, or the ideas
inside my head.
perhaps, this, was
never meant to be,
and perhaps it should now end.
how quickly I do change my mind
just as quickly as you change your sheets
how quick we were to jump in them
and let our cries escape
within the heat.
I sat on your couch this morning,
and read some poetry
I wished that you would read it too,
but you were staring at the screen.
I want to exist,
in the notes we have written,
the looks we have given,
and the kisses we've shared.
I want the smile you wear in bed
to be quantifying, always there.
I didn't glow on the way home,
or buzz on sexed caffeine,
(at least not the way I did before.)