So it is all fits and starts, too ripe peaches. Bottom heavy pears. Bananas. And me saying, “You know, he won’t dance with me. We have never danced. He does not like kissing.”

And he was there in a long wool coat, smiling. Of course this is what you make of it. So one minute I think I am getting nowhere when suddenly he has his hand on my jaw and no words are coming out of his mouth, they are just going straight into my brain. And the words are like slick, fuckache, satisfy, and he tells me he is feeding something dangerous.

Of course this is true. You will have to feed yourself he tells me. I have been though, been feeding myself light circles with his name in the middle and now I am alive but afraid to wake up. He asks me with an almost cruel smirk, “Did you think I liked this melancholy? You have bad timing. It’s your turn to hold the ache up.”

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