Sorry sorry sorry sorry

I have to pick at the threads in my clothes. I have to ease them out into the air so I can pinch, and twist, and pluck them off. If I don’t do this, they’ll get caught on rough edges and unravel the garments they belong to.

Sometimes, I feel the threads before I see them, and so I make a habit of coaxing out their little heads. I massage the fabric, and twist until I’ve exposed just enough to pull one taut. I need to keep massaging, and finding, and picking, until there is no more thread left.

The most two people can do is press their sticky bodies against each other and mess each other up. Usually one of the two is pristine and clean and the other is covered in black sticky sap, or maybe they both are.

And it’s nice, at first, to dirty each other up. You can’t get enough of them getting enough of you, and so maybe you’re shy about it, and only stick to them a little, or glance against their skin, but eventually you’re pressed against each other, and you’re dirty, and when you pull away from them you wish the muck would slough off your body.

You have to wait and dry off– but you can’t, you want them close and you don’t care anymore, and so you stick so close together that the next time they pull away your flesh is red, and you’ve taken chunks out of each other.