Capitalist Intimacy.

It�s that time where we kiss and depart.

Where last night dwindles into a distant echo –

Of crumpling beer cans and drooling vodka shots.

As the morning after swallows whole the

Night before.

Your face is sweet enough,

I suppose.

It could be worse.

Photographs.

Never quite match the swipe.

I have forgotten,

Or never knew

Your name.

I politely pretend.

Call you,

‘doll’ instead,

It seems fitting

Enough.

Your moniker is hardly important.

You are, after all,

Just a face.

A fuck,

To forget.

You�ll Whatsapp me…

I nod. Shrug without commitment.

You may, but

I have given too much of myself.

Already.

Besides, I haven�t given you my number,

Or my,

Real name.

We both know

This

Game.

• Image Acknowledgement: dalee Generated
• AI Free Acknowledgement: This is my own work and has not been generated in whole or in part by AI