Archetype :
When I woke up drooping off your arm, after almost an hour
of sleeping, my crotch ached dully and you moaned deeper into a dream.
I know what it means when someone says we need to talk, but I let you say it
anyway, focused on your hair and how everyone I’ve tried to love has had hair
like yours. You stuck a cigarette between your lips and extended your hand
above me. I let you pull me outside. We lit up. On exhale I met your eye. “I
know what you’re going to say,” I said. Someone joined us. I handed him my
cigarette and walked inside. Threw up bile while Katie did her make-up in the
mirror beside me.
Defenestration :
You told me in the car. Dealt the blow with padded gloves. I
stumbled back a little; I lose my breath sometimes, start taking it in ragged
heaves. You touched my breasts, you bastard. I turned the music up so you
couldn’t hear my pulse gain pace.
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