I read a book of poetry in the driver's seat
of a car that doesn’t belong to me
rubbed my nose and scratched it
eating pretzels, my mouth dries up
you gave me a butterfly kiss
the first time we fucked
had sex, or something more poetic if you wish
among other activities you did with my body
you and her touched noses
delicately at the tip, nuzzled
rubbed her back and legs and crack and shorts
to the sweet tune of a meditation playlist
and some Santana songs
I thought about Celeste in my head
women’s music and the Deep South
she let you have her, fully, inches deep
and side-by-side, back-to-back,
nose-to-nose
I itch my left nostril
fake silver ring piercing
faked, pierced, sublimated, orgasmed
did she? did I?
we laid and laughed at some point
even when you misunderstood my joke
about tech companies
and how they watch us. “Curtain,”
a square tapestry, a torn and tattered cloth,
hung a foot above the threshold
of the window. Neighbors watched us
butterflies
me and her flying away eventually
south or somewhere more gracious
with the other women and the Monarchs.
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