Written by: Allison Ballard

It’s days like this that my mind returns to Raleigh

The pitch, sandy futon, and our intertwined deviant legs

Pushing for a fix

I for one goal, you for another

I would be more aware by the end of the night

of the smoothness of your forehead, and your full Latin lips

While you would know my hips 

and fistfuls of my golden hair

We would each know the fire on our tongues

and the familiar feeling of a heavy mind, tossing and turning

chest to chest

I loved you, but was surprised to find your hands rough

and your lips untempered

Like a child, you indulged in me

without the mind for what I am, or the culture to know better

Though still, you press and carry me

under the door frame, to the floor

and as we rest,  night continues to sink, like theatre canvas

And We are disposed to move

With your golden skin, you lie

As your fingers trace circles in my skin

I thought that you loved me too...

But when my mind returns to Raleigh

My thoughts return to you

and your cold bed, our swimming heads

and how at dawn, you dropped me off

My bitten skin looking redder in the tail lights