there’s a difference

you know when your fingers are rigid from
cleaning chemicals? like when you’ve just scrubbed the tub.

that’s how you’d feel after sex
with her, but all over
your body. ozone would form
and cling about the room.

she’s heavy like a rainforest, full
on oxygen, sweat, just life I guess.

so she has some magic. pact with a ghost,
we all said. or maybe
some spirit chucked a curse at her,
and she must’ve dodged it and caught it
off a window ricochet. now she rides the sorcery.


who cares? she flies through conversations and boys
with a waxy ease and good god I like it like that.

pick me up with a shift of the gaze, please. I’m not
begging; I’m asking. there’s a difference. let me show you.

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