1731 c/o Samantha Conlon
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Girls are supposed to be what you are. The sun in Asia is different. Through the mirror I watch you in the back. This car is a death trap. Your face looks selfish. Something in me is sick and little, I want to bruise you soft, I want to hurt you harder. I am jealous of your split lip, your sore jaw, of how he got there first.
Giant proclamations of lust. Sitting in your lap, wearing navy. I'm weary, baby. Your arms hold me, we dance, supping on little tipples of whiskey, droplets falling through my teeth, through my smile. I'm your girl, I'm your good girl, I'm your money, baby. As long as there is this, I can deal with what comes later. Just gimme that joy and I'll take the violence.
You carry your body like a plea, things I like from girls are; apologies, loyalty, everything. When you dress in pink I know it is for me. Beijing suits you, all the lights, all the gloss, you're a commodity and you know it, you're my commodity and we know it. You watch me watching you, you blow on your newly painted fingernails, your eyes blink in slow motion, I think of handjobs.
Boys are anger and glass, you say 'make me proud' and I try. We go out into the lilac, the oranges, into the sky and the city, I wear black and you touch my back as we separate, you say “not too long now, darlin”. Bending over the door of an expensive car I feel it is too easy, this life. I catch my face in the clean glass of the driver side before the window comes down, I am peeled and picked. Arms that hold can hurt. My mother taught me to take this, somewhere inside I look for it, want it. Wear the bruises like a badge, I plan to love you til I die.
What's yours is mine. Get at me with that smile. Somebody should have told you that this is what we do. Real love hurts. I can, I will, I do. It's just when you look at me that way, I can't help it, when you come back smelling of leather and gin I just get a little crazy, baby, you know I love you, I just care too much. Yeah, that's right, that's it, you're my little girl. My little dollar, my young money.
Like an earthquake.
A sucker punch.
