Onion Skins

He kneaded the calm in small libations. Drawing on and erasing in the same strokes. Isn't that the difference between sex and love? How much you're willing to steal?

When I was in love it was always more a devil than a god. The cloven hoof my ancestors had forbidden me to eat too great of an inspiration. When I was young enough to still fall in love I never did actually fall. Not without a rope knotted to something stronger than myself. And in that way, I've never truly been in love. At least not in the way most people sink.

Or else I'm just a liar. Who doesn't know the difference. A frail whore rattling in her chastity belt. Since someone I can barely remember swallowed the key.

The world is what make me young. What keeps me old. In all the ways that prove it's not enough just to have what you want.

She scrambles amongst the tuxedos. A lopsided drink her scale. She slithers through the gowns. Her isolation the measure of her thoughts. A word away from hating herself.

She rushes to finish her drink before someone notices her sitting there alone.