you twirled my hair around your finger,
said, “so you wanna fu*k or what?”
I swallowed my heart when I saw you,
chased it with a fifth of vodka and
spit it back up on your shoes.
your whispers still vibrate on my skin
like the last few reverberations of the drums
of the last song at the concert where I met you
(we won’t mention the cocaine in the bathroom).
I never cried as hard as I did in your car
the night you convinced me it was best
to drop my pants if I really loved you.
the bruises lasted longer than your love
and I’ve never forgotten the taste of blood
in your kisses.