A Diary of Open Mouths

i remember the first boy's tongue,
hot, and terrible
pressing me down, down into the sofa cushions
in the bright white basement

then the second,
in the dim, fluorescent glow
of the alcove at the foot of the stairs
the smell of rubber
skinny arms and unsure mouths
my teeth on his bottom lip

the third, fourth, fifth... eleventh
a drunken, drugged, blissful blur
tall, unshaven boys with hungry hands
the low rumble of bass

the twelfth was sticky with sweat
soft lips and bare chests
it was a mistake,
he was a huge mistake
oh God

the thirteenth and fourteenth were good friends,
wide-eyed girls with white-tooth grins
adorned in empty bottles,
fresh vodka stains
the sound of laughter lost in the tall,
tall trees

the fifteenth, in the dark
violent, vulnerable, tongues soft and prodding
he threw me to the floor and i loved it
he bit me on the neck and i sang