illusions.

sweaty sheets, unlocked doors; mother walks in on us as we're sprawled out awkwardly on my bed, naked and satisfied, staring at the ceiling.

mother's pale; looks at me like she did that time she discovered the widowbird tattoo between my legs (I was twelve at the time and shaped like and ironing board).

mother walks out stiffly - no words. maybe she's run out of words by now? she looks disgusted.