sex and the single girl

living in reverse
she can't remember the
last decision
made
with good intent

flat out/no brakes
into the next
not quite right

pages ripped out
of rose-covered journals
recounting sins
more than she can bear

she keeps track
of the men
looking for redemption
every twenty-eight days

memorizing the litany,
innocent dinners
smoke-drenched bars
clouded mornings after
that should not have been

to prove
it doesn't matter

if you ask
you don't necessarily receive

she can wash away the blood

watch how it pales
running down the drain

like self-respect
after hearing
the heartfelt
'I'll call you'
one too many times

the right man
coming to her
on the right night,
will find
traces
of it
in the quiet dark