We’d meet up in the bridge of the night
on Monahan road where no streetlights survived at all,
where your
car would impatiently grumble as
I scurried out of the laundry room window

My bare feet kissed the cold concrete briefly before
I threw myself into the warmth of your old Honda,
attaching my body to yours like it belonged to you

The raccoons would come out to greet us because they
heard the sheer ripping of my cotton dress
into pieces between your palms and the rough grip of flesh which
held my flexing neck

Pearls of sweat accumulated once
I tore the shirt off of your back
My loving lips bit by your tough teeth and
I crumbled into your mouth like warm cake,
cuffing your face to the
irresistible urge to lick the plate
clean
windows once were the last moment I noticed but,
you dug your nails into my muscles like I deserved it
across the foggy surface of my skin as if we were lions leaving
chilled bumps and the marks of midnight
scarred in my mind for a minute

Fluttering lids lick this fleeting daydream
that I can’t seem to catch with
my bare authentic hands
Hands no longer tan,
Nor connected to the center
of your plans