Before the Show
black fishnets
stretched like tension—
up my thighs,
under a skirt
too soft
to stop him
his Planet Zero hoodie
hung off my shoulders
like a borrowed constellation,
smelling like sweat,
bass,
and whatever spell
he always wears
behind his teeth
my belly peeked
from the tight black shirt—
half defiance,
half offering
he was already undone—
pants at his ankles,
hands on my waist
like he’d been waiting
his whole life
to pull me
into a corner of the universe
with no setlist
and no rules
his breath
hit the back of my neck
like rhythm—
soft,
low,
rising with the crowd outside
as we moved
to a beat
that was only ours
and in that half-dressed gospel,
before the stage lights,
before the music—
he made the concert start
with his mouth
on my pulse
