We were meant to fuck.

I could tell,
just by the way I clutched your breast in my fingers
the way someone clutches a five dollar bill
blowing across a convenience store parking lot.
We sat at a sports bar.
Two empty stools between us.
I slid you a glass of gin,
then another.
I remember saying,"You looked thristy,"
but I didn't look at you. My eyes
were fixed on a high school football jersey,
reading sribbled handwriting and the scores
for a handful of games.

We talked in short, choppy sentences. Your
hands were thin, you were a nail biter.
After 11, we ordered pizza, extra green peppers.
I ate the small corner pieces.
Later, my jaw felt heavy.
Like cinder block bones, like a dry felt-tip marker.

During last calls, I asked if you wanted to come home with me.
"Sure," you slid a cardigan no one arm and walked towards the door,
"That's worth two free drinks."
I'm glad you didn't complain that my passenger's seat was broken,
and that the heat didn't work.
We had our head on each other's shoulders
walking up the stairs, leaning against the wall.
I used every key I had twice before
we fell into my living room. The front door stayed cracked open.
No lights on in the hall.
You leaned over me on the floor, undid my belt.
Tugged at me belt loops.
"Give me five minutes."
You kicked over your purse walking to the bathroom.
It was way too easy for you to unzip your dress drunk.

"Is this a rape kit in your purse?"
I rifled through loose pennies and cigarettes
and pictures of dogs and turtles.
"Yes, it happens sometimes."
You came out of the bathroom in just heels.
Both of our bodies were warm.
We scoured and kissed sloppy and made
noise in a room that needed white noise.
When you sat on my thighs,
I couldn't help but look back over at your pruse
with its innards spilled on the floor.
A rape kit in a ziplock bag,
dirty change, lipstick with smudges on the cap,
people's phone numbers and napkins.
Things like this weren't supposed to happen
until you grabbed my dick the way somebody's dick
is supposed to be grabbed.
We crawled onto the sofa and rocked
it against the wall. Frames fell onto my head
and we didn't stop.

Then it was over. I felt like a teenager
pulling at the hair on his wrist.
The teenager chewing the inside of a retainer.
You climbed off my waist and turned on
some rerun of Real World/Road Rules Challenge,
watching it until your eyes closed.
I left the TV on
and watched our shadow move on the wall.
Your leg twitched and I finally felt
like I could fall asleep.