I cursed you under my breath.
We drove to a field,
the stars were obscured by clouds but you pretended.
You stared upwards,
commenting on star patterns only you could see.
You looked stupid.
You talked about the state of things,
your words dripped out of your mouth
attached to wet strings and I,
I pretended not to care, pretended not to be
staring at your Picasso features.
Your skin was handsome but you didn't match.
I imagined at some point
a spider must have poisoned you.
Your insides were that of a doomed insect,
melting and swirling and indistinguishable.
You reached.
Your hands were ice and your fingers,
your fingers detached and
wandered across my body.
I tried not to flinch.
You made the ground feel like glass,
we touched on broken beer bottles.
You tasted like sawdust.
It wasn't love.
