Sensory Overload



Francesca Cornero ’19

It’s bittersweet.
I mean,
The idea that sex lingers.

And I don’t mean
that it lasted too long
Or that we talked too much after.

I mean,
That when I’m alone
And I go to trace my own lips with
The tip of my tongue
I still taste him there
And I wish I didn’t.  

I mean,
That when he’s gone,
And I go to put my hair up,
I catch a whiff of his cologne
Twisted in the strands,
And I wish I couldn’t.

I mean,
That even after I left him
For the last time
He stuck around In the shape
Of an ink-stain on my neck
And I wish he hadn’t.

I mean,
That I thought a hookup
Was meant to be temporary
So why the fuck
Is he still all over me?
And I wish he wasn’t.

And I don’t mean that
I wish we’d never screwed
Or that I’d never freaking met him

The idea that he lingered.
I mean,
That’s bittersweet.


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