Japanese Beetles

by Lachrista Greco

In my bed on a Saturday night,

tasting the alcohol from his lips.

Breaking tradition and inhibition,

sex crawls on my skin like Japanese beetles.

Broken and sorry, I swallow his apologies.

True differences appear the morning after

when the sun is isolating and sad.

Someone must dust my body for fingerprints;

He does not recall our naked happenings.