I leave long dark hairs on his pillowcase

and leave in quiet submission,

letting his eyelids close in sleep.

There's still some chap stick smeared on

his hipbones and my palms are engraved

with fingernail crescent cuts.

I zip up a maroon sweatshirt and shiver

when I walk outside

because underneath is nothing

and my breasts heave when I try

and catch up to the already moving train.




Smoke trickles out of his parted lips

when he picks me up and he smirks

because we're still together even though

he's got a girlfriend.

I swallow his real heart down and he rubs

his burning nose because two fixes

are hard to take all at once.

His fingers play drums on my

protruding ribs and I shiver in the shadows

of the closed blinds.




I met him through a friend-of-a-friend,

back when I was still a homesick

girl chain-smoking outside a party,

and he was a newly made blood,

looking me up and down through the

haze of smoke.

I walked away before numbers were

exchanged because nothing is

so full of fear as love.


Fast Forward.


One day I'll give it all up and

he'll forget that I was ever worth the

chase. I'll be passing out on a park

bench and he'll be with her.

I'll still be smoking,

and he'll still be a blood.

But we'll have had each other.



(Before the film runs out.)