at three in the morning 

with pants around ankles 

and sweat in our mouths.

 

in a too bright room

with someone we’ve forgotten

is a stranger.

 

in the backseat 

of a tiny foreign car

reeking of whiskey.

 

outside a favorite bar

a hand up a favorite skirt

and one against heavy breath.

 

sometimes 

winning just means not knowing enough

to walk away.

 

 

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