thisisnotaboutlovethisisnotabouther

she loved my bed head and my tuxedo shirts

and her tricky tequila tongue collected salt from that spot on my neck

and her traveling hands made a worn out path of the denim below my belt

and she didn’t think I was too pretty to place my hands in the center of her back and smack her sticky lipstick kiss on the sheets to stifle her vowels and slant her hips to me so I could make thunderstorms in her

and I counted one two three four

between each lightning strike inside her

and I counted one two three

and her nails made train tracks in my thighs

and I counted one two

and seritonin seismos aftershocks quaked her legs and trembled her chest

and she sprawled like a starfish

and I licked the salt from that spot on her neck and buttoned up my tuxedo shirt with rain soaked hands

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