i try to wash my hands clean,

vodka and grenadine burning

skin like traces of his fingers.

and i found out that some boys

carry knives that gleam in the

hollow light, playing with them

as cheaply as i play with their

hearts. i want to whisper

kiss me like a lover but all that

comes out is a hiss of smoke

and a cough that shudders.

--

his perspective:

she's wearing jeans,

clean cut, fucked up,

trashed hood rat. can

i score or will this strength

of mine scare her into

the empty air. again.

i wish i could just kiss her

but the smoke burns her up

and all that's left is a

shiver and a smell of sex.