I can still smell
The spit
On my
Fingers
From the
Early hours
Of last
Night
Though
My heart
Is no longer
Racing and
My mind
Has come
To a calm
My face
No longer
Damp
With anxiety
And beer
No longer
On my
Breath.
Yet I
Can still
Smell
The spit
Stuck
To my
Fingers
After
I played
Out
What she
Had done
With you
That night.
I came
Over
After
Two drinks
With
No dinner
After
A car ride
With missed
Stop signs
That I
Should have
Listened to
After
Novel text
Messages
And
Few words
After
A day
Spent
On my
Bedroom
Floor
Next to
A mandala
Diary
And
My colored
Pens
Laying under
My birthday
Blanket
On a stuffed
Animal
By a puddle
Of tissue
Paper
I went over
To your
House
Last night.
Where I
Kissed you
And your
Body
Until spit
Covered
My own
Fingers
Until you
Threw me
Under you
With sudden
Excitement
And ******
And ******
And ******
Me
Until
My breath
Grew shallow
My lungs
Collapsing
Beneath
My chest
Drowning
Beneath
Your body
Until
My temple
Shook
Like a
Stirring sea
Until
Tears came
From my
Face
Like rain
And then
You stopped
You hugged
Me
You asked
Me
Why I did
What she did
With you
Why
Did I want
To replicate
With spit
Sliding
Down my
Fingers
To be a
Replica
Of her
You
Held me
Again
Gave me
Words
Like medicine
Then
When my
Breath
Deepened
And my
Lungs
Rushed air
Into their
Open space
You
Asked me
To finish
What I
Had started
So I
******
And ******
And ******
You
Until
You found
Your finish.