the buffed floor shines with sweat and beer
while the dancers fall limply into each other,
slick with moisture and melting into a motion
that quenches a frantic need.

he watches me move.
i am the spinning room,
chugging cape cods in the corner.
i know this song, "poison ivy"
i sing the lyrics to myself
and he stares into my mouth.

he comes up behind me and
clasps his hands together
round my waist, his knee
pushing my legs open and down onto him.

back at the apartment he lays down in my bed like he belongs there.
i'm glad that i've cleaned.
i turn the lights out so i can't see the reflection of our bodies
through the mirror across the room.
he bites my shoulder blade
and can't get off my bra.
i turn to him,
"are you married?"
he laughs. shakes his head
and presses his firm mouth against
my neck.

i scratch his back hard enough
so that he'll remember me.
i don't fuck him, because
it'll really mean something if he ever calls me.
he says he wants to see me again,
whispers "you're beautiful" after making me come with his hands.
"you're not mad?" i ask, and he
runs his fingers over my hips and says,
"no, i'm not mad."

before seven, he dresses
and walks towards the door. he sees me open my eyes
and crosses over to me.
"see you," he puts his hand on my head
and walks out.

i fall back to sleep,
and wake up lonely.
spray the room with freshener
and eat pancakes in my bed.

08/30/2010

Posted on 08/30/2010
Copyright © 2024 Lauren Singer