Let’s Play


Our conversations are tennis games.

we serve “it’s okay” or “it’s fine”

and score with “it was a misunderstanding.”

we are too stubborn to call for a timeout.

even when i score, i beg for a new round,

because i love being in control.

i wanted to tell you to fuck off.

he left for work in a huff. scuffed his heels,

swung a bag over his shoulder, and slammed the door shut.

you made me make him leave. in his dark eyes, i found you swimming

around his pupil.

we made eye contact.

you lay, sunbathed, lapping his iris.

i hated you. i loved hating you. i loved hearing you say how much i should hate you

just so you could hear me sigh and say:

“there’s nothing wrong, it’s okay.”

i watch him shift into drive

and let the games begin.


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