based on true events
you told me your partner died three months ago.
maybe i was shocked you didn't seem too sad
but sometimes you just hold it inside yourself
and come to terms with your grief in private time.
and there was nothing private when you kissed me.
(or did i kiss you first? i don't remember.
i only recall you said you wanted it
in no uncertain terms, messy and direct)
i was scared to say i’d gone through my own loss
(i’d been broken up with) but i did and you
didn't seem to mind. grief is not a contest.
here it was a magnet, pulling me to you
and you to me and us to your back seat with
my lipstick all over your face (“super stay”,
my ass) it felt like hours and seconds all
at once, bodies and lips and teeth and fingers,
giving you control and storing every touch
and kiss and moan for another place without
windows that don't fog up. i'm always anxious.
even without privacy you claimed me there,
no ambiguity, only needs to fill.
if i hadn't had a three-hour drive back home,
maybe i’d have let you take me back to yours,
somewhere we could bare ourselves without the fear
of being seen. as it was i had to go,
but i did what you asked of me after i
made it to my bed. the morning afterwards,
i texted you “sometimes two people find each
other in the wrong place at the right time”, which
i hoped you would know i stole from Cyberpunk
2077, since under all
our performing, grieving, fucked up, brilliant selves,
we're both massive nerds. you thanked me for making
you feel desired, and i wanted to say
you should always feel that way, you're gorgeous and
talented and sexy and all those things, but
i was still too nervous. and i hope you know
you made me feel wanted, just as much as you.
let's do it again sometime. and again, please.