Forget about the morning.
kitten   February 15, 2009

Smoke curls from her lips easy as her words and just as artificial; another day to her, another needful ritual. I've heard those words, the same empty tale spun into the nothingness of blank hotel rooms over and over. Another bed, another pillow, another moaning breath of affirmation, and it vanishes with a bill and signature. Powder cut in such pretty little lines, wiping it all away as soon as it's done. And so I'm done, her use of me complete, staggering rumpled and addled to a taxi on 14th. Somewhere a connection was made, lips pressed against skin, and obliterated by need -- not want, or feeling. Just the need, and the goodbye, caulked in dilated pupils. Just the need, as ephemeral as her touch. The need, and the goodbye.