the all-girls school I'd surely be sent to if they ever found out...    

I know the intimate lay of the sheets after they have been torn into, after the empty wet of the mouth has left stains, after the sheets are crumbled like a tangle of legs, after his smell stays, cookie-crumbs, a dirty sock, his blue sweater. After the presence of his has altered the shape of my room so that his mess is scattered around me like fingers locking into someone’s hair. I kick him out and feel good. He is too preppy for me anyway. He’s into stocks. He’s into hair gel. He’s into himself. So I open the door, his ass, the soft ball of my foot. I’ll never call I want to shout. I’ll block all your calls. When I have enough quarters I’ll wash your smell out from my sheets. On my way for bagels this morning I saw a dead pigeon. It made me think of my desire for you. You are not welcome here anymore.