i am eating peach yogurt
hunched in the glow of my apartment,
wood-floored and hanging, humid, sticky
across my shoulders, my jaw slack
and fingers skipping across my skin,
a tooth-in-tin rattle, the fidget
of remembering, of wondering
why you smile at me so much
if you don’t mean it
the way I want you to.
Tomorrow, i’ll leave this city alone and trying
hard, the same pressure of a thumb to a bruise
with its blue skin shining to grey, to white,
its little chalky gasp set against teeth, and the pleasure
in the meat of pain. I’ll pretend to remember
what it’s like to be wanted.