Tell me that you haven’t felt like this for years
way-out high on red wine. Tell me about
2005 and the cycle of time, how you never
would have dreamed of seeing me here
and tell me that it’s magic as your long
fingers curve around my shoulder
bone sliding over bone
eyes swimming in the haze of the heat.
I remember how they warned me:
“People like her have addictive personalities. Don’t go catching that”
I’m just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her but I’m really shy and I’ll probably just text you so don’t hate me OKAY PLEASE.
"Your accent is so strange, you must be Canadian?"
"People run from rain but
in bathtubs full of
Things you’d only tell your mother in a foreign language
It’s ten o’clock on a Friday night.
You’re pulling hard on my shoulder blades
like you’re trying to open me up.
Tiny bones of fear block my throat
and the wind sucks greedily on my hair.
I arch back, to let the worst flood in.