The first person I told was Crystal. The T.V. had been on
Since five, and after the show she said
It happens to everyone. But I told her it's not the same.
There are no plastic tea cups in their stories, no red
Sheets. There is no girl named Amy, or boy
Named Louis - and that was important.
What was important was the plant on the window
Sill that shook when I shook, the way clams clench
Their lips together, how my arms drew against
My chest. The open door was important -
The long hallway, the silence where there could have been
Footsteps. That element of surprise, the rising action
Would have been crucial. I told Crystal
About his body, his sweat on top of mine;
The way his face pressed against me, I couldn't breathe
Or move. But she said it happens to everyone,
so I said oh, and we changed
the channel.