Too cold, she says
snatching back her hands
I add hot. No
More. Too hot, she says.
Pours the cup out.
The tights are too tight
and the wrong pink
and have lines.
She puts on the blue
pale bulb of her right toe
exposed.
They're torn, I say,
and don't match.
It's what I like, she retorts.
Back up dress in her bag--
just in case. Water
bottle exactly full
Hold me, she says
I need you to hold me.
On the couch. Exactly
in the regular spot,
her slight body
burrowing into mine.
So hard, to face the world
As flayed as Marsiyas
insides exposed
to the wind's every tremor.
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