You hold me with strong hands, in the hard curve right above my hip,

where my tan begins and my muscles are strong. You pull me tight and I grind

against you with bare feet and too few clothes. I want to hear beautiful whispered

in my ear, but the song is over and all you have is a cellphone number and a hardon.

I cry in early morning hours when it's really night still and I can't sleep.

(You say you think of me and I cry harder because I think of you too.)