Damn Fine Chicken

“damn fine chicken” she says, fumbling the book across my table. i make fun of her so smoothly that she’s caught off guard and jabs a genuine “fuck you!” at me. she instantly recovers and almost blushes with apology. i brush it off because i like it. familiarity feels good in a stranger city.

i want to fuck her til her insides turn to crystals. i don’t know the math of that equation but I’m pretty certain her tarot cards could figure it out. im also pretty certain her name is melanie. she didn’t say but the mustard of that home knit sweater whispered secrets across the bar and i know she still cries at cat memes when no one’s looking.

sometimes she smokes cigarettes just to taste something that feels dirty. sometimes she touches the cheeks of the ocean just to feel something that tastes like certainty. i wish she’d press her tongue against the roof of my mouth but my darkness isnt deep enough for her taste.