I’m Done Melting Rocks

When you slowly nodded to
the third attempt of my lips,
was it pity you couldn’t say
or did you just want to suck
the smoke out of my mouth
as if a bowl wasn’t enough?

I’m tired of scoring that shit
for you, burning my thumb,
& forcing myself to swallow
its acidic aftertaste, thinking
that’s the only way we are in
this bedroom past midnight.

I’m sick of that diesel stench
crawling steadily on my skin
that only wants the soft tips
& the certainty of your grab
when you push gently, a yes,
or hold, the pull of my chin.

When you turned your back
after I took off my buttoned
shirt and belted jeans, was it
my breasts that shouldn’t be
there or my vagina that still
shocked even with red eyes?

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