What M Stands for
M is for mystery. We don’t know who we are. M is for mistake: she likes the bed that we sleep in because it evens out our bruises and we wake up with identical colours motleying our skin. M is for mischief, for the way she tugs at my hair and turns around, pretending someone else did it, whistling even though she can’t whistle. M is for morphine, her analgesic touch. She likes to rest her hand against my chest and just keep it there. M is for mess, the state of the bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen when she leaves.