"I Left My Internal Organs In Rochester, Minnesota"

"but that's nobody's business",
she says as she takes a sip of her third
McDonald's coffee.

"I'm certainly not going to tell you
whose bed I left my fingers in,
or how my ideas of betrayal changed
the first time I listened to a certain album."

I fold my hands in my lap and smile.
"But you want to tell me," I say,
"you love to shock people. You can't help it."

She looks at me from under the brim
of an olive green jagermeister cap,
leans her head back against the headrest
and balances her coffee on the bulge of her gut.

"That's not the point. That summer I slept
on the couch under an open window every night,
no matter how cold it was, reaching out my arm
just to be close to it."

"Close to what?" I ask.
She's quiet a moment.
"Anything that had no words."
I pretend to pout.
"Does this mean you're not going to tell me?"
She rolls her eyes and looks at me, grinning.
"Of course I'm going to tell you.
It all started with Harry Potter fanfiction…"