The night after I refused to sleep with him
He told me I was a parasite.
That I sucked him dry
Without touching him.
I was something to be crushed
between his fingers
until I burst.
I replied that I was just along for the ride.
That I attach myself
to those who don’t know where they’re going.
I was just a tourist:
The worst kind.
When he began to follow me to work
I stood behind glass
like a spectator
To my own mess.
He left me notes on my window
begging me to return
and latch on.
I asked him why he was still so eager
to let my teeth sink in.


This is the dance we do.
The host
and its guest.
The two of us
trapped in the cycle
of sustenance.

– Melissa Rose