Tangled hair and limbs
pant legs thrown onto the car floor
Frantic breathing and
movements
bruises,
cuts

Cleaning yourself off of me with your sweater
A black tar comes out from my stomach
up
onto my tongue
that tastes like him
You’re looking out the fogged window
I’m not her
You’re not him
We nod
and smile

Next day
you’re wearing that sweater
I look down
and wince