The Time I Wish I Had Gone Home Instead

I want to be the little spoon.
your arm coiled around my tummy
the hourglass with the sand you swirl to.
i want to be cooped up in the crook of your arm
your mouth breathing at my neck.
i want the corner smile,
to recognize the shape forming by my skin
without turning to see.
I want to be the little spoon.
i am not cut out for this 21st century courting
and i often doubt my existence
but i would be honored by the gesture
by your body mimicking affection
and your hands exploring lovingly
even though love has nothing to do with it
and you, sir, are a stranger.
pretend they didn’t steal your candy in your youth
pretend that hoodrat didn’t knife your sitter in an alley
pretend you weren’t there
pretend you took off running.
Pretend i am the woman you love
that left and kept you breathless
that you called a flower.
i don’t need this violence.
i don’t need to be called a whore.
i don’t need your slurred speech in my ear
like a hissing snake
i don’t need to share the dawn with your
gaze
all behind glass.
pretend i am someone
and not nothing
beautiful fleshy and sober
in your troubled bed
on your dirty sheets.
pretend you aren’t mad
pretend your faculties have stayed intact.
pretend you drew my lips to your cock
with a sweetness i could only describe as nectar.
i dont want to pretend with you or in your bed
and i didn’t pretend very well that morning
that you were a lover and not an aggressor
that you were a one night stand
and not a scar.

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