Peroxide

The atmosphere expecting. Words. Or some kind of language. Flaps of skin like a broken screen door. Banging. Opening loudly. Closing louder yet. Time. Empty condom afterward. Playing the teacher to dead students.

Antonyms. The prevailing scent of when. Gravity felt weaker.

Coaxed by moments. Hours renting their tuxedos. Clean bones slipping into their new clothes. Worn by as much as wearing. The black and white. The brittle obstacles meant to make us love each other.

Sex. Molecules not convinced this is where they belong. Sex. A compendium of all the dares I traded for truths.

It's always over. It's always finished. A chorus of fingers manipulate tender jests. Alive once. Black hole admits. Life is only what it can suck out of others.