the love hotel will always be something.
whatever costume you want me in, order it in,
ill barely move. I’ll dip my fingers in bath water
lazily feeling fucked and not that horny.
when you go to the plastic bag of beers
for the sixth time, you’ll say something about my
breasts and how they do not fill up that dress
you like and you’ll be talking and you’ll be talking
and you’ll be talking or something.
new york city.
sent you home a picture of my naked chest and
you were like, shit is dangerous on the internet
for your sake I’m deleting that and when I
ordered a small iced coffee it was twice the
size of my head and I hugged it like a real
boyfriend or a baby which seemed appropriate
considering the circumstances I guess.
it was raining.
it was raining so we hung our wrists over the balcony
i said “do you have fire” in terrible german
everyone giggled nervously until someone
handed me a lighter, wet from the rain and so
we watched the football on a large tv in his bedroom
sitting stiff next to each other acutely aware
of not touching and Italy won, I think.