I remember the heat of him as he would

Push up against me, Gin-fouled and

Smelling of Camel Wides. “I love you, baby,”

He would say. “You stink,” I would remark.

He would give the bar-story of a

Thousand words that would drip sour

Onto my breasts, as he moved

Closer to my lips. “Stop, I don’t want to.”

I would push. He would pull and snuggle

Into the side of my neck, hoarse-whispering

The reasons why I should. “You’re drunk, stop.”

“Oh, come on, baby. I love you.” He would

Convince me that I owed him. My mind would

Empty. My body would open. My soul would

Pour out, dry and brittle, so over-used, leaving me

Hollow and cold. Shame and humiliation would

Enter with him, gnaw at me,

Devour me with sharp, jagged teeth.

****

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