On Sunday night
she said “If you don’t want to be here leave.”
and all my sentences got slashed with her cold eyes kitchen shears
I said “That’s not it,” I said “It’s just,”
and then I put my clothes on
and then she turned the lights on
and then the door opened and I left
Monday night
we were lying like spoons in a drawer
I toyed with her dark hair and whispered things
we stayed like that for awhile before she
hid her face from me making a mask with her little hands
when I pulled them back her lashes were all wet
“Promise me you won’t hurt me like she did.”
(it’s times like these I look to the tree I pluck all my pretty words from who’s branches normally break from the vernacular strain, but at times like these it shivers naked winter twigs and I’m left digging through fallen fruit on the frozen ground.)
“She made me think I’m a bad person, am I a bad person?”
and I say “You’re a good person.”
and her lashes are wet for awhile.
and I say “I’ll stay.”
when she kisses me
she kisses me fast she kisses me desperately
I hope she is kissing me not Jessica
the mask she made is off
but we are all covered in dark so I can’t tell
when I cum it is hard and bright and fast
it is a meteor flash in our night sky
she asks “What are you thinking?”
I say “I’m writing poetry.”
and she falls asleep
I’m awake for awhile
but I don’t leave.
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