in the center of Jersey, I think of his breath.
how his chest expands and contracts
and stops moving all together when he thinks of her bones.

all the girls with the monogrammed backpacks
and their cookie cutter smiles
were plucked from galaxies,
while I was dug up from the ground.

he’s taking her like she’s medicine,
and people aren’t made that way.
there she sits, idle.
coughing up her own ****** lungs
like there’s some sort of return policy,
I can tell. after all, that girl was once me.