lines

we licked our lips with flicking snake tongues, tasting the air, groping their respective ways around the stale taste of a wednesday evening. the smell of a slow warm glow creeping in through blinds and across your chest, your arms, your coasters on your coffee table and your own fucking method of justification. pushing along and chasing the line of an early thursday scraping in sallow slats across anemic sheets, sit up, wrench back, fall down, sink in, get out. I don't even remember it being particularly sunny that day; sweat clung to me like the lightest fibres ever were that skimmed a disapproving alabaster thigh - lewd, ripe stench and shivering your way out, pushing your way out your front door. and here i am, shivering, beads of nervousness and justification rolling down my neck, my back, clenching at my little gut and your little conscience- tugging and tugging at a cord i've tied off and grabbing wildly for a lifeline you've already cut.