The afternoon
like used rubber
lost in roll
one in pleasure
the other cold and full
beneath their day clothes
thrown off like wings
she looked nude like a thinner version of herself
lost in angles and jutting hip bones
a little skinnier than his wont
but you know what they say about skinny women?
you can put them on top of your pencil and rotate
sharpening to a point and using until blunt
her smell is on his fingers and in his hair
his mouth aches from kissing her between her legs
she’s showering with the door open
the tiny bones in her spine popping
as she leans into the heat
the steam fogging up frosted windows
he inhales her and his fifth cigarette
simultaneously
it is this
the indistinct
stillness of afterward
sought most of all
when his body is sate and slick with her dew
nothing, not anything, matters
she
will ask for him again with her eyes even after
she has washed him off
it’s the contradiction of
passion
to re-dress only to have them torn off
he traces with his little finger
a selfishness that tells the rest of the world
to go to hell
languidly replaying how
her thin body rose and fell above him
weightless
the sound of her pleasure
pressed against his neck
like vibrations from a train
speeding into station with
oiled momentum