the rocky timeline of a __ day relationship

yesterday

my fingers were slick against your wet skin

lips are slimy when it rains

rivulets of oil and sweat pollute our mouths

drink the water swirling on the asphalt

chug it with splendor

nothing tastes better

than the poison of a connection doomed to

plummet.

today

we both sit in boiling water

bubbles rising in my

gut

pop rocks reach

the acid in my stomach

I ricochet from

singing to screaming

I’m over the moon and

floating through the terrifying abyss of

a starless space.

tomorrow you’ll train your eyes on carpet. Why so shameful? I will feel my shoulders shrug in apathy, spit out the rehearsed words of disappointment and inevitability and circumstance. But I’m a July baby, I’ll fool no one. The whispers from the class before will prove that to me. I will stare at the nauseating brick wall and hope the prickling heat that enflames my chest and neck and ears and scalp and face doesn’t show. I will try and disappear into the floor and repress every fragile and hopeful thought I had. It will come back on you twice as hard, and I will leave you sitting in your car regretting every single thing that led you to this point, led you to me and far away from me. I will be stronger because of it and I will learn quickly to never give myself to someone like you.

but that’s tomorrow.