You’re tired.
Lonely.
You lost someone.
Someone lost you.
There was something you forgot, then you remember but wish you didn’t.
You’ll try anything once.
You can’t tell the difference between love and sacrifice.
Your room is cold and you’d prefer a passionate death to hypothermia. 
You are older than you once were.
You remember regret is the friend you always entertain by candlelight.
He smells better than you thought he would.
He tastes like a memory you wish you could put in a bottle.
He asks your permission.
You’re turned on. End of story.
You’ve played “Go Fish” from love’s bucket of lies too many times.
You don’t think love is something precious. Or you wish it wasn’t.
You want to get lost in a feeling like a long drive off a steep cliff.
You enjoy the sensation of soft heresy.
You like the way he looks like someone you know, then no one you’ve ever met.
You ask him to talk to you and realize you haven’t had a conversation this interesting in too long.
You’re looking for a change, even if it leaves you as desiccated as desert bones.
You crave the way the sucking motion puts you back in Plato’s Cave.
You’re just into monsters.

© 2026 Lesley Hart Gunn