9/8/18, 7:42 p.m.

I met a woman I’ve known for

twelve years

and more to come? She glanced at

me perhaps.

I met the boy who stole that

woman?

He has a rough tongue

and rougher hands.

Hands that shape her face.

She told me to leave

his words in

her mouth

hateful, and scathing, and desperate, and

empty.

To stay denies her respect choice

makes me into him

a Catch 22

she’s only nineteen.