Struggling to smell the difference between the perfume she wears behind her ears -as you teethe at her quivering neck, and the stench of the motel where you fuck like strangers but later call it sex. Where you forget whether it’s dusk or Dawn and just remember, you forgot to call her. Her throat opens wide as the moans bleed into traffic horns, police sirens; and mouths as filthy as their children spit glass across the mattress filled with eight naked body bags, and of course you two- squirming as if you knew what you were doing, with his forearm pinning down her greasy hair, she pretends she likes it rough just because she thinks he does. They rock back and forth like infants, trying to remember what it was like to sit in their mothers arms and feel what love really is. Without the crooked smiles that forgot the difference between disgust and lust. Just because it’s always so painful that the corners of her mouth have earned to lift with her skirt to make the tears look like his work paying off, without showing the shadow of a doubt that is still trying to figure dusk from Dawn so it can decide wither or not it’s time to make an appearance. If home is where the heart is, tt makes sense they’d be so hollow. They lock eyes- but only because neither has the key to what the other is really looking for. They stare so deep that the room blurs. Their pupils grow so wide that they swallow each other whole; they stare so deep into each other’s eyes that they just look right through to the other side, and feel just as alone as they did the day those dusty old vintage motel sheets started to collide. They’ve been fucking in the same rotten room for so long that their standards for the outside too are gone. He’d of never known he climaxed if he hadn’t fallen out of her broken spirit and into the pages of the bible that wasn’t even placed in room 12’s cracked nightstand. It would have served no purpose to the two who’d stoop so low as to continue spending each other when knowing all along they were both worthless. So they smoke the broken roach clips, left in the ashtray from the moment they noticed -neither one of them even smoked. They’ll make it routine and call it adventure as the habit forms and the love becomes indentured -two slaves wondering which is the master as they both eat the leather and clench their teeth reaching up towards the rafters. She used to call for Jesus, and now she calls for me -she used to call for Jesus but she never believed. It’s just what she thought you’re supposed to do. And we’ll keep fucking like we’re seizing today while tomorrow giggles behind the curtains and the night masturbates in the room next to ours with his first date. And I’ll keep telling this story in third person, and I’m sure she’ll do the same. Because we never loved, we lusted without ever knowing the way. We never trusted ourselves to get there, so we stopped at a motel along the way. With each stop we take, we get a little closer to getting further away.