and i disappear
from oncoming traffic
into your lap.

you say some people need coffee,
i need this. and i think to myself,
it’s simple, really.

i do plenty of things once a day.
shower, set my alarm, call my father
to tell him i am safe

what is love if not
being needed,
and unzipping your throat,
if not letting the rats
underneath the sink
live, because it is the middle
of winter?

when you say, now
you mean here
and tomorrow here will be your bedroom floor
a gas station parking lot, the dumpster
s
behind my high school
soon, the velvet of being desired
begins to harden
and i sculpt a new, doughy mantra
to pass the time

i think, it takes three weeks
to form a habit
which means
twenty one days until it is as simple
as brushing my teeth. like any girl
good at her job, i will
teach my tastebuds
to cover their ears
develop some hack to tame the gag
and share it with all of my friends

and, i do, of course i do,
but your body becomes immune to the gift
i can tell because you stopped flinching
and stayed mad even after i was finished
i know, i know
i got lazy, i’m sorry
i can’t bind my mouth into something tighter
so the needs mutate into a tumor
with a face and teeth and hands
and soon i am swallowing your pillow
tending to the rug burn on my palms and knees,
i think, twenty one more days until i master the art
of separating brain from body
until i am the girl in the magician’s box
whose upper torso rolls away from her hips with ease
and i do, of course i do,

but you know the drill,
the need, the immunity, the tumor, the habit,
and soon, you want it twice
you want it four times
you want it in the middle of the night
but i am asleep
but you want it
so i wake up

watch this
i learn how to not wake up
while its happening
i teach myself to lock the door
of my dreams and stay there
until morning

i detach like a classroom skeleton
piece by piece
i share the trick
s
with the curious girl in geometry.

asleep? she says.
and stops laughing.

yes. i say.
isn’t that the best part about it?