i pretend it is only his body that did it.
only his body that flattened her,
ironed her thighs wrinkle-free,
sliced her down the middle, a mortician’s cut.
his own hips: tracing the smooth wave
of a hasty suture.
only his guitar calloused fingers digging
making little circles inside her
like a child searching
through a pile of buttons.
only his mouth pressing down over her eyes
so that she could not even tell she is awake,
but she hopes she is not.
i pretend that it will still feel safe
to laugh around him, to find his
shoulder blades with my hands mid-hug.
i imagine folding his white
body like a dishtowel.