under the covers we're the same—skin to skin and i haven't
kissed anyone since she threw up. your jaw rests on my cheekbone and
his fingers hold my hips to his. and when i fall asleep i know i'm not dreaming
but i can't remember in the morning if it all really happened.
(did i down the shots with their aftertaste and aftersex? and do you know,
i think this is the beginning of a wonderful drunken friendship. but i won't
kiss anyone now that she's thrown up). my chest aches and you make me
arch to have your lips but all i get is silent sleep and that awful pain when it's
bright and i have work and you lay with eyes closed on the pillow we shared.
under anyone, his fingers can't take me down, but the covers she held over me
are lost in a memory of drunken pain. you look at me with eyelids half open and
i touch your shoulder with goodbye. we're separate and unequal because i'm
hungover and you're hungry for more skin. i haven't kissed anyone since she threw up.