a girl who wanted to be an animal

she had left the road
 literally turned off
 but had never been more turned on
 such freedom in being a little filthy
 a film of a blanket covering your skin
 all sweat and grime
 salt and whispy hair
 dried crusts and trapped crumbs
 skin creases
defined edges
cuticles
 fingernails as tiny refuse centres
so much more visible than they should be
for their size
and colour
and her
and hers
the lone wolf girl
her sex becomes manic and pedestrian
in the same way it is for animals
functionary and thrilling
empty and intense
leaves her without the hang ups
or ironing
of shirts and issues
the next morning
and after
paul says to her "whats your number?"
he genuinely wants to know
he'd like to see more of this dirty beast
she grunts at him
and lights a bent cigarette
the butt rests on her lip
chapped
 he doesn't pursue the request
out of embarrassment
and loss in the stakes of who can care less
because she doesn't
at all
or she does
but only as much
as cat
who doesn't