Inventory // Personal

I’m not as pretty as I look online.

I slept with your fiancé.

That night I questioned your existence. On the way to the hotel

he said he loved you, I was just too beautiful to pass.

Inside he looked better with his clothes on,

but you know that.

Then he went soft.

He took too long in the bathroom.

I believe in karma, the heart’s undoing of the body.

My goosebumps as I lay, dressed in my laciest g-string.

The swell of time threatening

to spoil your dinner and mine.

I believe in my mother’s silence, once home

following the heavy scent of tomato into the kitchen,

where the only noise between us became

the sharp groan from his Toyota, as he ripped out of our driveway.