the manic stage

you can tell from the way i shift gears and i can tell
from the way grip that flat 7up wedged between your thighs, but
no one says anything. all those girls i have been are
piled in the backseat, gasping like a fish, and we’re
making small talk about changing lanes and i wonder
how many times, when you’re under me, you try on a different face
of mine like trying to find the right lid for tupperware. i know you're making up
answers for my questions because i can feel your tongue
masturbating against your cheek, i can feel the dead beetles ratting
on the dashboard, i can hear her in your vowels
as you touch my face with fingertips
as if it is a phone screen gone dark, cracked into a spiderweb,
and i’m having breakfast in a parallel universe.

Cayla Bleoaja is an emerging Romanian songwriter, poet, and tree whisperer. Her work is visually fervent and deeply felt.