she smells like cigarettes and mistakes, mine to be exact. her red lips vomit sweet words of abuse, burying the foundation of my desire even deeper. its easy to ignore her while she speaks, my eyes have too many places to rest upon and my imagination takes advantage of given visual material. its not long before i lure her into my bed, lift her black polka dotted skirt and take her to her final destination. she leaves bruises on my body like her own little collection of passport stamps. her post-coitus post-orgasmic sweat runs down her neck as she pulls me closer and whispers in my ear, “mine”. determined yet somewhat defeated she adds “just nod, even if its not true”.