Her eyes are heavy from alcohol and drugs.
She looks over her shoulder and smiles at me,
knows I’ll be gone, both of us cold again soon.
The lace covering her body is a perk.
New Orleans ladies have outdone it again,
Climbing me, moaning. Shaking from cold, pleasure.
More time in December, February, March.
Holding her hand, not afraid to let it go.
It’s all the same to me. Accompanied… not.
But then, all that he seemed was awe-inspir’ng—
eyes unimaginable, curly brown hair.
Now loneliness replaced with longing, pining.
How do I manage to relinquish my time
so fearlessly to new coy lovers each month?
After all the aching, always fall in line.
These old boys, these young men, remember just each
feeling of pulling up skirt, lifting my shirt.
Masturbating to a memory, a peach.
Nicholas makes me want to be more, is more.
House clean, skin smooth, my mind wandering to him.
Eyes dim with sickness, my inner thighs still sore.