her black jeans were flecked with cigarette ash when i stumbled out of the bushes with all my synapses shouting go go go and my vodka smile looking extra serial killer. she was playing the doors on her phone and humming along through the words she wasn't sure on. she was kind of homely but she knew what she thought about things, and i tend to find that electric. i told her i loved her for the next twenty minutes or so, with more emphasis and less conviction each time. she took it all in stride and i never thanked her for that


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someday i'll think more deeply about how you can become a voyeur when she's in the same room and you fucked not two hours ago but tonight i'm going to avoid the right songs and leave it at that


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i can pause. i can pause and you can't and does that not scare you to death.


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it was an attic that should've been warm but wasn't, how about you?