You stay until the last possible moment, and then you stay a little more.
I’m still naked, you gave me one more quick fuck. You were almost out the door, then you turned, came back in. You didn’t even take your jeans off, you pulled them down around your ass, then fucked me hard. Hard enough, we both hope, to last us another week or so. But we both know better.
I wrap myself in a sheet, follow you outside so I can watch you pull away. I want to see every second of you. I stop short of running down the street. I’m not given to such theatrics, even if it is what my heart wants.
Your car turns the corner. If I peer at the right angle, I’ll see a flash of white between those two houses, then you’re really gone. I go back inside.
I’m too sad and restless to sleep. My hand lingers on my thighs, still damp from you. I feel the bruises on my hips, my breasts. I push into each one, remembering the moment you forced them into bloom. Continue reading →
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