Touch and Taste

Some nights, waking up to, two ante meridian, complete and utter amnesia. Too much Bacardi, a hard time with time and all the old friends it brings around. Wondering how my shorts had flung themselves upon the desk in that matter of time, how my bra twisted into itself, underneath a bag and some sneakers. I hate sneakers– sports– this good ol’ sport sporting athleticism. Turning to find a mass pressed up against you, this other being claiming your space in such a brute manner. There are 7 billion on the planet and not nearly enough space for us all.

Some nights are mornings. Setting fire from the East, breaking the tectonic plates it caresses. Slipping away from the movie room with friends asleep, looking for alone time, when time is so sparse. Playing the game of staying up, waiting for all things to subside, pretending to be cold, as if you can’t hold yourself together-Oh, excuse me. I’m just really cold. Under two quilts. Well.. maybe we should head somewhere with some more space. bed space. for sleep. Wondering how all these bodies become with so much coincidence in this world. Each of us a b  i  g  b  a  n  g. Start kissing, thinking this would be wonderful. But I didn’t stay up this late for this. Somehow he’s sitting up, glorified splendor of birthday suit, sweating already, looking nervous, stunned–a distrusting raccoon coming back for seconds of the trashcan in bright day light.

Are you sure? I don’t know. Are you sure? Sure. Are you sure- sure.

Everything is touch and taste. Bodies heaving, twisting into deformity, ugly naked truth. But he’s unsure. I should have- No, wait! Did you…?

I was used to men who were used to women. Forgot to instruct on the human construct. – I jump up, distorted reality but sober. We were sober. Sobered up by the fear. This is how we are created, in distorted fear, deformed sobriety.

Are you okay? Are you sure? Sure. You sure. Are you–? Sure.

I thought you were taking the pill? I thought you were aware of space- your space before it was my space. Are you mad at me? Do you want to slap me? I don’t believe in physical violence. I don’t want contact. I want the contact to be un-done. 

Fold shirts, get dressed, sit down, stand up, walk around, rearrange books on the shelf, clean up my belongings. Getting my pieces off the floor, things jumbled together, trodden down in the hurry. The mess. Looking at my phone. Don’t know who to call. Who to tell.

We should get The Pill. I can go pick it up. The Giant should have it in stock. The pharmacy. They may not let you pick it up for me…. pick-up-me-pick-me-up. Student Health has it.  I can pay for it. I’ll go pick it up.

Morning work, I get one of three calls (the ones where things are said that matter, but you just didn’t know it then) I will ever receive from the number, saying I need to make an appointment, that we should go together. Together. That was the beginning of the end — Together. 


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