This was not love making.
This was sin
and the devil victoriously
danced between the sheets.

someone's in the next room over
having *** while we
are weeping
what a way to mark the occasion
the day my fingers found a wound
you let someone else doctor
it's upsetting see
the bible in drawer next to us
the way our hands still
fit together
like the torn halves
of a love letter
the way you got
all dressed up like the rain
and how we couldn't tell
the difference in the shower
it was the longest hour and a half
spent crying
the hot water wouldn't give up
so why should we
right?
even though it was scalding
neither of us touched the ****
we knew this was supposed to hurt
your hair
a black mess against my shoulder
my fingers
oil in the vinegar of your hands
our bodies
the great divide
all the sobbing
a river runs through it
without the courage
to carry or **** us
so we step out
and drip dry
down to a mute breakfast
composed of quiet
and last nights liquor
as we came back in
there were people in our room
at first i thought them detectives
dissecting things
to see who had died here
i had forgotten this
was a hotel
and they were only
cleaning up after us
i wanted to stop them
plead
that the sheets were still perfect
that if they clean the bathroom
no one will know
what happened here
someone has to remember
"please
i know
these cigarette burns
by name
i will bury the faucet
let me take the tub
i don't care how
if i have to
i will drag it home by hand"

noun | pen·e·tra·tion |\pe-nə-ˈtrā-shən\
1) the act of going through or into something: the act of penetrating something
2) an ability to understand things clearly and fully*

if you penetrate their body
without entering their mind
you aren't really all the way in

Palm to ribs he writes what’s not there.
His lips spill the cheap words, “it only beats to keep me alive.”

But the cavity in which it should exist echoes the emptiness of her last goodbye
and it’s not ready for anything more than short hellos and drunk quickies.

I ****** him for the first time at 5 am on New Year’s.
He’s the definition of a void, but we brought in 2016 with a bang.

It’s still unclear which it ******* more –
his body
or the hollow mirror image of my chest.