Here is the part where I detach completely from whatever was grounded in reality in this piece

I had a dream we finally made out.

Good news-- I didn’t mind that you tasted like one million cigarettes or that your clothes and your hair smelled like them (I’ve actually always liked the smell of cigarettes) and anyway I figured you’d taste like them because you’re addicted to them and surely you’d just come from smoking one right before we started to kiss.

We had found ourselves alone in a room (a small, circular room) and, well, I had quit my job— something you remembered when you saw me standing across from you, I could tell from a nod in your head as you held the shape of my body in your eyes, it was you who asked “So you do want to do this?” You had known for quite some time that I had wanted you for quite some time.

In the moment I wanted to be strong, like... a femme fatale! like all of the women you have told me about, like that woman you dated for 15 years, before I was even born, but instead, as a little girl, I melted and sighed into your lips, I shrunk in stature like your spit was a tonic that said “Drink me, drink me, drink me.”

I felt that I wanted to be your toy (if you would accept me as one I would be one). You did, and there was nothing romantic about it. Nonetheless—Breathless. Breathless I became, breathless, as I always am. I drew myself away, trying to compose myself from here I start to invent as a woman, I grabbed the collar of your shirt, and clutching it (the collar), I thumped my fist against your shoulder and then there was a silence like ssssssssssssss until I said

“Don’t think you’re getting off that easy, bub.” 

Using the hold I had on your collar I pulled you closer Made it mean something because I knew you would hate that I Came at you With passion Washed away that demeanor of yours that Cool confidence Made you care Changed you In one motion With one act One oh, One sigh, oh yes oh sigh yes