May 01, 2005 | 3:25 a.m.
let me be your armor.

in the movies, he knocks nervous at the door, back for one more kiss. or else i meet him at the gas station, raining, three am. and he always takes me home with him. and i don’t end up wet, limp, at the edge of the bed, stretched out stockings sagging, a mess of mascara. and we wake up with want again. and again. and again.