The night of velvet and fractured glass
bled on for months. Who needed
sleep when you were on call for
a fire department of a boy’s body.
The first night, sneaking through the garage
riddled with mannequins and the
promise of panting glowing on his cheekbones
as he led me through the dark
to the sheets, darker still-
swimming with his smell.
He touched me first. I shivered.
He gripped my hands. I exhaled.
My breathing struggled to synch
itself back with my heart,
the uneven pace of both in a relay race.
Breathing and beating elbow each other,
begging for first. Begging. Please.
All at once, breathing made sense again.
Fumbling turned to fluid for the first
time in my sixteen years;
a preview of nights to come,
years after the house was sold and
the mannequins were dressed and undressed
time and time again.