Just one cigarette won't hurt

I slipped my hand off the bar top,
grimacing at the  
aged, greasy feel of  
(nights like this)  
un-wishes  
stuck on the bottom  
of a barely-washed glass.  
 
A cigarette smoked itself next to me,  
another never-again I couldn’t keep,    
as last call came around,  
and I realized,  
I wanted you.  
 
Because from the  
opposite ends  
of the room,  
we silently tipped  
glasses in the  
vague direction  
of life,  
 
and there it was.  
 
I should have called an Uber,  
slept it off,  
kept my clean white shirt  
and manicure  
from ruin,  
 
but really,  
I'm not that  
kind of girl.  
 
I followed you  
into the bathroom,  
and pressed  
the front seam  
of my summer shorts  
to the back of  
your naked ass  
and asked what a  
nice place  
like this  
was doing around a  
 
guy  
like  
you  
 
You shook it off  
turned around,  
legs apart enough to  
keep your pants from  
pooling on a floor that  
saw more piss and tears,  
than bleach and water  
 
And it was that ravenous nasty  
(no need for names or backstory)  
shit that makes  
(I don't want to know  
your favorite fucking color)  
you vaguely ashamed    
(just shut up.)  
(just shut up.)  
 
bite marks on  
tits bouncing out of bra,  
broken nail  
against  
the green tile,  
hand over mouth,  
legs locked,  
mostly clothed  
grunting,  
sweaty,  
harsh,  
 
unrepentant  
position change,  
hand smack,  
growling,  
(Take it, bitch)  
murderous  
over-the-shoulder  
look,  
(Then give it to me, fucker)  
 
And you...  
And we….  
And...  
 
The cigarette  
smoked itself  
out.  
 
The glasses  
tipped from  
both ends of the bar;  
(to life)  
your dispassion for the toast    
a red handprint  
raised on my skin,  
a raw ache inside  
my body,  
an echo in my ears  
 
that made  
me light  
another  
cigarette