I forgot I existed before waking up on your front
porch at 6 am. We walked to your bedroom as the
morning light waved goodbye, the first and last time
I will ever sleep in jeans. We kissed like we were mad at
each other: urgently, my hand clenching your thigh
for dear life, pursing our lips because that makes it
slower which somehow means it's more intentional.
I’m ready to wake up for the day and immediately
move my body. I wonder if that’s only something I’m
able to do if I’m not telling anyone about it. Still- it
did always feel so time sensitive, I would be rushing
without any idea where I needed to go except that I
wanted it to be with you. I was hesitant at first, until
I was able to remember what your perfume smelled
like: clean, no matter how drunk I was, no matter how
tired. I’m afraid it might be lingering, but I finally learned
that it isn't beautiful to be so tragic, not even in November.
Now pity feels nowhere near as good as intimacy
does, and intimacy only feels as good as the last time.
I struggle to find a point where I wasn’t naked in every
possible way, but that’s because people usually fall in
love with me if they’re having *** with me. This
time I was too busy remembering how to be on display,
how to play the right amount of pretend and the right
amount of dead. In the dark it’d be impossible to tell
the difference between the way you saw me and
the way I saw you, but I can still feel the sinking.
Nov 3, 2021
Nov 3, 2021 at 1:53 AM UTC
I forgot I existed before waking up on your front
porch at 6 am. We walked to your bedroom as the
morning light waved goodbye, the first and last time
I will ever sleep in jeans. We kissed like we were mad at
each other: urgently, my hand clenching your thigh
for dear life, pursing our lips because that makes it
slower which somehow means it's more intentional.
I’m ready to wake up for the day and immediately
move my body. I wonder if that’s only something I’m
able to do if I’m not telling anyone about it. Still- it
did always feel so time sensitive, I would be rushing
without any idea where I needed to go except that I
wanted it to be with you. I was hesitant at first, until
I was able to remember what your perfume smelled
like: clean, no matter how drunk I was, no matter how
tired. I’m afraid it might be lingering, but I finally learned
that it isn't beautiful to be so tragic, not even in November.
Now pity feels nowhere near as good as intimacy
does, and intimacy only feels as good as the last time.
I struggle to find a point where I wasn’t naked in every
possible way, but that’s because people usually fall in
love with me if they’re having *** with me. This
time I was too busy remembering how to be on display,
how to play the right amount of pretend and the right
amount of dead. In the dark it’d be impossible to tell
the difference between the way you saw me and
the way I saw you, but I can still feel the sinking.
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