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.
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.)