(4/7)

The night we met is burnt into the film of my memory, feeding over my mind’s eye when least convenient.

That rickety old hole in the wall under the rickety old train tracks.

I stood, whiskey sour in hand, subtly nodding along to the music. You walked in late, and it was evident we were each our own type of fucked up.

You took your position like a well thought out chess game. The Queen to your Pawn. You were calculatedly placed, enabling a glimpse with each sly sip of my poison.

And I craved more. With each dose, my entire body went numb.

As morning broke, we regained consciousness alongside one another. In one languid motion your gaze met mine as I shamelessly declared, “I will gladly be your Queen, my Lizard King reincarnate”.