Tessa’s Marionette

She and I never fucked. 

She never painted her fingernails either,
and thought my lavender colored ones were ridiculous. 

Her band aid covered hand slithered across the cheap ink in my arms.

I always wondered why, 
but back then I was far too thoughtful to ask.

She closed her book, 
and gave me Olivia Gatwood when I was halfway through “Women.” 

A little diversity never killed anyone. 

Three cheers for agony and hand rolled cigarettes.

I couldn’t get her off of my mind or her cherry red high horse. 

She assumed that I was full of myself for trying to do so. 

We kissed outside of my apartment that I wasn’t paying for, and my breath probably tasted like six dollar whiskey, but I don’t remember all too well.

She told me she would come back as she walked down the steps. 

I tried to make the final kiss last 
because I know when someone doesn’t really care.

She called me pompous a few weeks later which I fondly recall every now and then.

When it got warmer I returned her books, 
and realized her band aids on her fingers were to cover up paper cuts. 

Excess of an affectation can be a cruel mistress. 

I let her paint a dove on my black wall
I loved it.

She told me our paths will cross again. 

Now, I sit here and apply a thicker coat of lavender nail polish.