Freud, Adler, Jung and All Those Fuckers

Start from when you put out the cigarette. Still brushing the sand from the soles of your shoes as each footprint followed you toward.

The waves long receded. The sting of the jellyfish fading. The salt on your breath just an afterthought as you crawled into the backseat together.

What do you remember about her? Freckled skin tense under the strobe lights of your stare. Nylon mini skirt excited with static puckering toward the space between her thighs. Like a candy scented invitation to open her up.

What do you remember? When the choice is yours? What happened or what might have? Had you really undressed her. Removed all those skins that kept you from truly being inside her. Filling the hole she painted your name on.

Do you know the difference between just closing the door and hearing the latch click?

Do you ever wonder what she looks like when no one's there? The scarecrow without its straw. How she speaks when no one listens. The way the words jump from her lips in a downpour of small suicides.

Until every thought is dead.