summer

And I wish you never made love to me like you wanted to breathe me in like air, gulping me like milk dripping from strands of hair. Whatever. I don’t really care. Today I only taste those nights in New England on MBTA trains in autumn. The Providence to Boston line in November, when especially cold, is one of the only times I remember that train filled with the excitement of youth. You. You see, unfortunately, you are the first Great Depression. I don’t know how to write fiction because of you and for that I want to commend […]