She enters, and she’s all long limbs and silky hair, her skin like satin, miles of it appearing and disappearing under the dim lights, it’s like watching the shoreline at night, and her laugh: high pitched, it pierces the music, and dear god those pearly white teeth, almost fluorescent, eerie.
You squeeze my hand. Your limbs folded under you, your knees bruised, your wrists scarred, your skin is a painted canvass, and your hair, the way it sticks to your neck, to the place I used to kiss, as if drinking in the life itself. You don’t laugh, and even if you did, I’ve heard your laugh break, I now know the cracks that hide beneath the surface.
See, she’s all body parts and fantasies, she could smell like strawberries and tell the most magnificent stories, and those hips… She’s not real, to me she’s not real, not the way you are, not the way your touch sometimes feels like fire, and not the good kind – like wildfire, she’s not 3am phone calls filled with anxiety, she’s 5am calls to drink on a rooftop, in a different city. She’s not love, but see, sometimes, love feels like a noose around my neck. You kiss my cheek, the noose tightens.
She’s looking at me, I can feel it, not on my skin, or in my gut, or… god I can see it in your eyes, the way you glance over my shoulder and then gaze at me, and you’re not undressing me, not the way she is, your eyes are clawing under my skin, to see, see, see things I’m trying to un-see. You’re too much, you’re more than I’m willing to give.
She grazes my hand as I carry our drinks; she smiles and I damn-it, but I swear it gives me butterflies, and you see them escape through my eyes. I tell a joke, you laugh – your laugh cracks, it chips away at us.
I come back at 3am. You’re asleep, or at least I think. She’s still there, dancing, and I think, for a split second I could watch her all night, I could watch her forever, the way her hands twist in the air, the way her hair glides down her back.
Her skin doesn’t feel like satin.
Her laugh is too high pitched.
Her teeth graze mine as we kiss.
Her lips taste wrong. Her lips taste like freedom”