She lives on the third floor.
Her key’s on a chain with a skull.
She threw her coat on a chair.
Cozy place full of stuff I’d never seen.

Leafy plants in pots, blooming flowers.
Records and books on the shelves.
Magazines, sketches, photos
Of people I don’t know
Who smile in her life.
A cat ran past my feet.

She moved here from Sweden three years ago.
Works at a library, sorts books.
Plays guitar in a band with her friends.
Likes to travel, but she’s scared of flying.
Parents still there, call her every week.
She said she loves them but she had to leave.

Smart, funny, pretty, foreign.
Unlike anyone I’d ever been with.
She knows her own mind, has her own plans.
She doesn’t need me for anything.

She put her hand on my thigh.
I ran my fingers through her hair.
Her lips were soft, her tongue sweet.
I played around with her tits.

Red bra, lace panties, socks with stripes.
She kissed me down my neck and chest.
Candles on the nightstand, dim light.
Smelled like flowers and clean sheets.

Her skin was smooth and warm,
Her breath hot and fast.
We made love on her bed
Like it meant something.

She held me afterwards,
Her arm around my chest.
I felt her heart beating.
“You can stay if you want, Daniel.”
Insects crawled on my skin.
I tossed her arm off me.
“Get the fuck away,
You trashy bitch.”

I fumbled for my clothes,
Did my belt on the stairs.
No sound followed me down
But her calling that name again.