when we fucked for the first time

it was glorious

though i still can’t decide,

upon reflection,

whether it was the execution or the alcohol.

when we fucked again it was still good;

anticipation made me want and

watching your body move,

knowing that what was underneath would soon be mine

was a potent spur.

the fourth time we were together

you told me i was attractive

– such a damning phrase –

and that we were friends.

i told you we weren’t

and then you came.

and i still can’t decide,

upon reflection and with time’s passing,

whether i miss the you that is you,

your smile and wit and charm,

or i just need to feel you throw me up against a wall

one last time.