Prose?

The bottom of the peel thins out
As you take one last pull
Of the cigarettes you used to clutch
As he held you behind the ear
Hoping you could send your energy into that empty box
Pushing the love through your fingers
Maybe that spot
On the back of his leg still feels the way it used to
When the bedsheets were foreign and secrets
Well kept behind his eyes
But your lips moved to quick
Honey, you've sank more than a dozen ships
But you don't stop trying
To catch something live
The worm on the end is looking deprived
Synch up your bootstraps
And work harder tomorrow
You can't make it stay
But it feels good to borrow