She told me the yellowing green shag rug reminded her of grass,
dying in Fall.
and the brown smoky lamp took her back to the days of carefree sex –
where fucks were free, drugs were never-ending, and tomorrow was dreaded but inevitable..
She smoked her cigarette as her eyes roamed the place;
almost undressing it and because she didn’t know the stories behind it invented her own.
She never liked anything but the minty ice cold flavor of menthol.
I never understood her and she liked it that way.
I felt like a child who’d snuck into a peep show,
stealing every last glance as she undressed and warmed herself under the lamp.
It was cold and a dry satisfaction arose from seeing every single goosebump on her body.
She said not another word all evening but somehow I’d already learned all the stories.
