the June air feels so good against my skin
I'm smoking and I shouldn't
that feels good too
I'm thinking about him and I shouldn't
that feels melancholy
like a Sunday night
pathetic
like a long drag on my cigarette
hidden in the shadowed light
I want but it's wrong
like picking the scab on my leg
it feels visceral and rewarding
until it hurts
dried blood on my sheets
I know he's sleeping in his
soundly
no thoughts
but I'm there
like a shadow
following his movement
go home and sleep, silly girl
yes, but kissing him feels like catching up