Your saliva hits my chin before my tears start. Above me, sweating, your face is still; in shadow. Darkness pooling behind your eyes.
My fingertips against the stubbled hair on your cheek.
Wet and smooth; rough like sandpaper and soft as silk.
My fingers come away wet. Is this blood or is this sweat?
Between my breasts and across my belly. Damp, between my legs.
Blood or sweat or tears or brains.
I look a question up to you, and you frown as the top of your scalp slides off your head and lands on the pillow beside me with a small, wet splash.
And you say, "Sorry."