The Dopamine Letters, Mary Stone

L"Dear insight, dear panties. I am dressing in the dark and can’t find you. I put on jeans and the thick cloth rubs my soreness. The swell is warm and biting. I search the night stand for keys, my ring. His wallet. He showers. The dark room becomes stale. The smell of wicker. Earlier the room had spun beneath me, above me, circling over me in soft arcs and waves. It had smelled of men’s deodorant, musk, hair. The room smells of cold glass windows. Church pews. The scent of not knowing someone’s name. I like how he leaves me, washes me off his skin. As if it never happened. This is surprise. As if he never crossed over me. I take a twenty out of his wallet, fold it into a tiny square and stuff it in my pocket, grab his cigarettes. When I drive down the glass-edged highway I smoke his cigarette and can smell myself on my fingers. I buy a cheeseburger, a few gallons of gas, and it’s like clipping a rose from its stem for the first time."

-- from The Dopamine Letters

The Dopamine Letters
by Mary Stone
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About Mary Stone

Mary Stone is the author of One Last Cigarette, a poetry collection, and the chapbook Blink Finch. Her poetry and prose have appeared in a number of fine journals, including Stirring: A Literary Collection, Gutter Eloquence, Menacing Hedge, and others. She is from St. Joseph, MO, where she currently lives, writes, and teaches.