Last night I kissed two boys who do not love me. Last night my thoughts rest in the front pocket of some man’s shirt, somewhere. I brushed the dust from my memories of your hands on my neck. I wrap flames around sticks to bring to my lips, my body’s miserable mistress. My blankets smell of dissatisfaction. Big buses carry small loads and if the sky gives up every once in a while, so be it. Laughter and alcohol are an empty cure for our fate.