I had a dream
a strange man
became my cat’s paw.
Or, maybe I was his.
Our kisses weren’t kitty soft.
My heart wanted this transaction –
the breathless gasp after you divulge
rough information not meant for your speaking. Yes, that kind.
He was older, mustache.
Blonde or gold.
His smile was a must ache,
every departure those pink lips made
from my own.
There was a fire.
I was burning alive inside.
Again. Again. More. More.
Must-have. Those arms.
Those eyes mirror
I covered my eyes,
my palms soaked in tears.
“This is wrong.” I sobbed.
“You wanted this.” He harshly remarked.
“Why did you kiss me back?”
“What did you say?”
“You wanted to be touched. You could have restrained with self-control.”
“You’re as guilty as I am. You went first.”
“Yes. I pulled back because this isn’t the way I want to be held.”
“And that means?”
“It means I don’t want to kiss you if it empties my ability to use sentences properly. I’m cheating.”
“I came in here and threw myself at you. No name. No awkward first conversation with coy smiles, and my wanting to ask if I’m the only one nervous, but I don’t because I don’t know how to be myself. The quiet, observant, lost in thought girl. The one who moves snail speed compared to everyone else. Who likes to hold hands. Hug obsessively. Who holds onto memories with what others call her “death grip.” Who cries days after friends say goodbye. Mulls over tiny transgressions most people find silly. Who can’t accept herself, let alone let the only guy she’s ever needed accept her in this broken state.”
He looks at me questioningly.
“Jesus.” I turn for the door.
I continue slugging along, until his voice becomes a whisper.