Bright Slap

The smell finds me first—
low under the sheet—mine—
and the alley comes back.

Behind the deli,
heat wobbling,
she slid between dumpsters,
palm on brick,
hiked her dress,
met my eyes,
didn’t blink,
rolled her hips toward me,
kept going.

The sound hit concrete—
hiss, then bright slap,
steam lifting;
the air went sharp.

My lips made no.
My wrist twitched.
She held my stare,
widened her stance.
No one else saw.
She made it for me.

That hiss follows me
under percale.
My hips answer.
A door I pretend is stuck.

I hold.
I hold
past the first bright pinch,
Breathing.

I answer myself,
the clumsy prayer
that knows where I hide.
I ride the animal
that wakes there.

My smell climbs my wrist—
warm, metal-clean.
I keep it.

The warning comes.
I don’t apologize.
Pressed to the lip—I stay—I stay—
Now.

Her eyes on the brick.
Bright slap on concrete.
Metal on my knuckles.