He pressed a white towel
against my face—
It smelled
 
like sugar—
Winter wilted
in my lungs—
 
An ice cream truck
on San Pablo Avenue
played its song—
 
My phone rang
but I couldn’t answer—
He nailed me
 
into the bed—
Everything came off—
Even the condom—
 
I stopped breathing—
All night
he searched my body
 
for something he lost
becoming a man
exiled
 
from what he loved—
He didn’t love me—
He loved what he could do
 
with his curiosity—
That’s how I learned
imagination is human
 
nature’s cruelest weapon—