She exhales the smoke that emerged From tar buried deep in her lungs.
Into the sink
Goes the ash at the end of a stick that
She clings to in times like this.
The bathroom we populate looks like
It was old on the day it was finished
Never mind now,
All these years later
The three of us sit.
Perched in different seats
That our tailbones have to make do with.
It’s just her though
That interests me
Her and the smoke
That leaves her mouth and hides
Behind her eyes.
Her toes play with what is left
Of a vodka bottle,
Smashed to the ground when things
Didn’t quite go as planned.
She watches me.
The second she stops
I will allow my eyes lower again.
Lower so I can see
Above her cunt
Through her bloodstained underwear.
The third person.
This one much more a girl
Than a woman
Her fingers curled, softly
Over a knee whose skin
Against the cold tiles
At the height of pleasure
I take my cigarette
And put it out
In the pile of glass on the floor.
We are exhausted
We are sore
We are drunk.
The first woman offers me another cigarette
Lighting it for me first between velvet lips
‘One more’ she says, smirking
‘Before you get to fuck me again’