Dorm Room Writing

Not just in the missing shape of your body on your side of the bed, but outside too.

Snow fell like powered sugar- the crisp air now smelling of funnel cakes.

Bad combinations - like a summer evening at the fair, 89 degrees on the top of a ferris wheel, whiskey rolling around in an empty stomach swaying with the motion of the machine.

That’s how it happened.

Bad combinations- whiskey, motions of the mouth, heat of the words making impact.

It would take a lot more than powered sugar falling on a greasy, hot funnel cake to solve this cold in the bed.

“I’m too much of an asshole for anything beautiful.”

It was like fact. For example we have 206 bones in our whole body. Concrete.

I knew I didn’t deserve you. The way the thickness of your beard tickles my neck as you kissed down my body. 

Yeah, I liked that. Yeah, I was a greedy asshole. I wanted more.

As compacted as a brick, I stated that. Your beard busts open in a laugh, rolling from your ribs.

“Bonehead, I love you for all the mess you are.”

And my 206 bones, melted. 

Butter in a hot skillet. 

Beard to skin on sticky sheets. 

You.

And me -Asshole. 

And love.

Asshole love. 

So why do you worry about it everyday? 

e.m.