Quicksand

The floor was never soft

and your hands

were never clean

Still

night after night

our bodies coiled on carpet

Fingers fastened

And every time after

I’d repose on your ribcage

Cheek to chest

Eavesdropping

I knew

it could never be mine.

“What made you

so callous, so careless?”

Beer-breathed and backbiting

your retorts

(like yourself)

were unchanging.

“Just drink” you’d command.

Every bitter stomached shot

a reminder:

lust might satisfy

a weekend

but never a lifetime

I wanted whispers

butterflies

breakfasts in bed

Not these straw houses

Not this quicksand

This was convenient.

This was never love.

Please and thank you!