he does not have sunkissed skin. he vomits into wine and touches me only when i ask. i go to dinner alone where we’ve gone before and only order coffee and because of this your mother calls me brave. it is still his house and they look for their old rooms while i wait for you. finally in the car you tell me sorry doesn’t mean anything and i just keep thinking about the sun and your skin, golden freckles. i drive and do dangerous things, a story of control.