committed

that night in gaswerk, winterthur, after my three-hour performance: i spun through the dance floor in a spaghetti strap pink linen dress, soaked with sweat, cropped hair on my head shorter than that in my armpits, a man i didnt know taught me how to swing dance, tried to throw me in the air, i wasnt having it. then the cutest goth femme i had ever seen in that country comes and grinds up to me, grinds her warm cunt on my thigh through the rest of the night, before we say goodbye we make out right there in front of our respective boyfriends her tongue and soft lips like velvet, like rosepetals, like everything superficial, we make out for a long time. as we say goodbye we lock eyes and our eyes say, i was drunk, but i did mean it. and then its understood. but i push it, i ask her where shes sleeping tonight, she says im with someone, i say so am i. we both smile. we go home seperately and make love to cock, thinking about each other, we never speak of it when we see the other on the street, we just smile, i know youre thinking of me. but we are committed. i let her slip away. i never find the balls to say, run away with me.