calloused fingers run over sharp collar bones
and too big ribs for such a small girl.
you breathe in
quick, deep.
the lights went out
seemingly years passed
each tick of the second
each slight move towards another number
went unnoticed
but painstakingly slow all at once.
and you sit there speaking with him
every detail about you laid out
on a table such as:
cold silver, blue cloth over.
sharps and dulls and rings.
and you figure it's the only table
you'd ever want yourself upon
and when lips touch
lights flicker back on
they're no fireworks
but they'll do.
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