I hated going to the hotels
with one entry and emergency exits.
Overnight rooms we only rented for
a few hours, clouded in body pollution.
Fuck it, I thought. I lit cigarettes
in the non-smoking rooms,
as I hit the ignore button
on my cell phone.
it was his birthday
We went to an Irish bar all the way
across the valley, three cities over
and he showed me pictures of his
girlfriend dressed up like a slutty
school girl. Seven drinks later,
he told me he wanted to marry me,
I grew more powerful, pulling
the strings of lust tightly
around his insecure dick.
He looked at the dirt on my knees
and at my mouth, like it was some
magical weapon that I used in trickery
to pull him from his woman
and throw money away on
short-lived hotel visits, like
I was the devil from his dreams,
on his shoulder, in his pants,
breathing tropic heat all
over his neck.
He didn't have any type of God.
His woman wrote me a letter
about how I was too pale, too thin,
how my tits were too big. I flushed
it down the toilet at work. He told
me he loved me but of course not.
I was nothing more than a row of
triple x's across his palms and
the giant, destructive boulder
smashing down on them
in the form of the other woman.
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