And I’m drinking from the cup of see you laters again.

I’m caught up in your long hair. I’m sitting across from you wearing my favorite collar. You
don’t say anything about it. I tug your hair tighter. You wince. And I take that small movement
out dancing, to the roller rink, to the last arcade I kissed a man in before I lost that love. Where
do you go when it’s time to fuck. How do I get you to pull my hair for once, to rub my arched
back. I want to take you back to your first love and piss all over it. I want to quit checking insta
to see if you’ve posted where you’re at. I wanna stop feeling like a criminal, like a liar come to
collect. I want to bathe in the warm water of you. To feel your hands on my waist and your
mouth on my neck. Is that so bad? Your hair is long and pale. Your breath smells like coffee.
Your voice is familiar and new. Whatever that means. I want you here because I want you here.
Simple as get out.

---

Alyssandra Tobin is the author of Put Eyes on Me Not Like a Curse, published by Quarterly West in 2022. Her poetry appears in Poetry Northwest, Puerto del Sol, Gigantic Sequins, Grist, and elsewhere. She is a PhD student in English at Oklahoma State University.