When I remember him kissing my shoulders it comes in flashes:
splashes in a dark pool. Hopelessly uncool,
grainy footage, like a security camera, and I
legs spread, head spinning:
“someone please tell me you want me.
Tell me you love me.”
There are three and a half billion women alive
and I could die here,
sipping a beer, curled around barstools, wondering what they all do
to live better than me. They make living look so easy.
And now it is midnight and the pool tiles reflect light like mirrors.
I am asking him favors. My voice wavers and he
is trying to pull a hand through my tangled hair
but it’s hopeless. I won’t forget this.