“and the water felt like crystals” you are saying, buzzing in my ear where the phone is

wedged between shoulder and cheek and

I am barely listening,

lost in myself,

working my fingers in hard circles

while night creeps hot and wet through my window.

“The water felt like crystals and my skin, my skin, my skin” and

I am speeding closer, feeling your voice in my belly, feeling.

“Margaret,” you say and

my breath pushes past my teeth, ah ah.

“Margaret” and the stars shine violent, a car door slams.

A boy skins his knee on the sidewalk and I feel it.

It is creeping up my legs, centering.

Ah ah, and it’s the first bite of an apple

or heavy bass rattling,

trembling my spine,

like fat raindrops on the sidewalk, oh,

that burst upward into steam

reaching, ah ah, reaching,

like still water startled by the footsteps of a child.

It is flooding, rushing, breaking down the door and

you still talking, your voice

dragging me in.

I am naked against you, I am pooling warm and wet and

“my skin, my skin”

and oh, my toes tighten, oh.

I bend.

I break.