He threw the punch.
But my Michael threw it harder.
Blood streamed down the inmates nose.
My Michael only had a busted lip.
The inmate tunnel visioned on him.
Scratched his temple.
I watched on knowing this fight was started because of me.
The inmate flirted with me.
He didn't like it.
Boy,
He was hot when he was possessive.
He was hot with blood on his menswear.
He was hot throwing the second punch.
He was hot when he was protective.
Guards inserted themselves in-between the fight.
He told us we had to go back into our cells.
The fight was over.
But he was hurt.
