your soft chocolate skin; the way it feels against mine. I still remember when I first saw you. after-taste of black coffee on my lips, chain-smoking french cigarettes.
our first hello, you kissed my hand. mademoiselle, you said.
but I knew I couldn’t trust you. not back then, and not now.
neon lights of the red district would follow us for the next few weeks everywhere.
bombay tonic, my little black dress. I placed my head on your lap, you stroked my hair. your hair is like noodles, you said. yours is like black sheep, I replied. you’re my sheep. yes, anything you like. we stayed like that for a while before my head started spinning. I lit another cigarette.
countless nights out on the street with no home to return to but it didn’t matter as long as you put your head against mine. sometimes we’d sleep like that for hours. riding buses without numbers from one side of the city to the other. hot, summer afternoons.
but you don’t have any books and it breaks my heart.