Poetry - Hard

Maybe it was the Way

Maybe it was the way
my skin prickled
or the way my thigh
was pinched
between the door of your truck
and your forceful hand

maybe it was the way
I shifted
my concentration
to the gentle constellations
hidden in the spray of stars
flirting out from
the ebony beneath them

maybe it was the way
you rubbed your whiskers
across my frigid skin
swept your sweat
across my sticky face
turned to the window
trying to pretend
I liked it