Flaw Salad

I wonder what would have happened if we’d run away—to Mexico, like we always talked about. Would your hands still have a home on my long, long thighs as I move over you, so comfortable, so sure? Or would we have eaten each other anyway, like that symbol, that circle of two snakes? I could never understand what happens when they get to each other’s heads. It seems impossible they’d disappear, but that’s how it happened to us, isn’t it? You don’t even recognize me now when I look straight at you. It’s like you never sat beneath me and looked into me and made me believe for the first time, more than anyone ever could, that I was beautiful. Now you just can’t see me. Or you won’t. And I run my fingers along this thigh, thinking of a time when you were all I could see.