This is not a fascinating tale.
A breath, a gas station, tobacco perfume. Cigarette ends blister my hands
like shooting stars burn holes in the ground.
The impression of being strangled with a wire or a noose, or a lover
Who doesn’t realize the bruises
Left on his lover’s skin, around the neck or the
wrists, created in deep and uncontrollable passion, directionless ecstasy,
I want to tell you this story without revealing,
without letting you know that I drove to the gas station that night,
that I knew he felt different,
that I wanted to buy cheap liquor—Jack, Jim, Miller—obsessive.
I want to tell you this story with him as the main character:
Alejandro naked. Alejandro faded, in someone else’s bed.
Alejandro in her room, the dim static on tv, one hand on the blunt and the
other her cunt.
Tell me we never lived and I’ll love you.
I’m surprised I could speak with her there.
A window in my chest shakes, when I remember. A large shudder. The first
Can you see them, leaning against the car
standing still, not fucking
creating vapors between the gaps in the smoke? Can you see them
inhaling into filters, inhaling soot, inhaling each other
to get higher—
gas leaking out of the hole in a car, fluorescents spill like
vodka bottles dropped, and the window shatters glass on the ground, and
I need to tell you this story ignoring that I passed a stop sign under the
Allowing something, that he raced me
and strangled me with cigarettes.
And he wanted it to be bad, and he whispered to me
that he’d ruin me.
And he wouldn’t stimulate me, but he held my body pinned beneath his body
And spread my legs until I couldn’t feel them to use them
But bones heal. An unwished for star shot.
His hands shook stars out of the sky but they didn’t grant wishes.
He drowned my lungs
with his lungs and the stars
kept falling, burning us beneath in tobacco twinkles.
He tasted like a combination of candy, cannabis—
On the metal hood stars, and fluorescent light shining
off the chrome,
Illuminate. Like taking drags and releasing them into the air, impressive and
bragging fumes into my crevices—
Retching deep and strong
And filling the air with acidic spew, muting conversation
Bringing us back again, inhaling and exhaling the better times on the hot
And waste, lots of waste
Waste much smaller than he ever created or made, uncomfortably his
But a story comfortably his anyways.