Born Again in the bathroom of a ***** hookah bar*

This morning I stood in the shower
with the taste of last night in the back of my throat
when I did blow off a bathroom sink
in a West Harlem hookah bar
with a girl I used to think I was in love with
who split lines with a razor she carried in her purse.
She giggled as she nicked her finger
and drew a cross on my forehead,
though neither of us were religious.
I thought that I would've offered her my body as a canvas
and let her baptize me with only humming fluorescent lights
to bear witness.

We did lines with an old walgreens receipt
because we didn't have a dollar.
We liked the sound our bones made when
we crushed our bodies against the grimy tiled walls.
We chewed each other's lips to a pulp
and mistook them for cherries in late August.
We clawed our skins raw
and sang of Eve, or Adam's Rib Cage.

That night I drove home with open windows
as the warm December mist settled on my face.
I said 10 Hail Mary's
and picked my nail beds until they bled.