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How You Know

You’re in trouble. Awake 
at three. Not working. Feeling 
dizzy. The narrative
with you on top—  

It’s toast. This morning, 
you were trifling 
with his back, wanting his elbow 
to brush your breast—just for the jolt—

and if you have the composure to ask—
which I never do—
it’s just another hormonal storm 
brought to you by a lifetime of weather 

another too-smart stranger helping 
you into his car, helping 
you out of your clothes, another calamity 
with your name tattooed on his butt.

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