it's a shadow on my shoulder, a sky that's too dark too early, the way my brother laughs without covering his mouth.
it's the metal between my fingers, between my jaws, inside my intestines.
the blood is ugly and runs like treacle,
sweet and covering my skin, like hands that grasp too much, fingers that walk for miles beyond their home.

tell me what you thought of that night. if you think of that night. if the taste of wine reminds you of the touch of my inner thigh, if those fluorescent lights—

no.

just one more night of locking my door twice.