i'm coming
she yells through slick night air, bared teeth,
fake virility evident in her stripped thighs.
boys shirts, akin to a dress on little girls.

hiding beneath his eyes
that say nothing much at all for the moment.
but dear god she's scared of what could happen
between the lines of cigarettes.

she didn't write this ending.
the styrofoam cup brimming with acidic clear liquid
she almost remembers, maybe, was wrong.

black/white lips
pull dryness/smoke through them.
6:50am screams at her
and black/white fingers clench a sheet
that covers too much&too little.

and it's funny what happens.
when we leave our underwear on the poolhouse roof.
not forgotten, but the catalyst to flee.