The thing is that he never told you.
About the break and about the depth.
You speak and dip your fingers onto the rough skin you like because it's far from feminine.
Cradling into leather and ignoring the actual act.
The actual past.
Wiping ashes that get caught in the threads of your jeans.
Looking down because you know you meant it.
I braided my hair because you said you needed something.
Sipping the coffee on the steep side of the bricks and exhaling more than one by one.
My stomach is always empty but I know I like you and your shady eyes.
With you and the front seat kiss though the cigarette smoke evaporating the light.
