It was in the way your chest
concaved, convexed with my pulse
and with our ****** our bodies
beat rhythms into the walls
and floors; I was shaking
as your hand held up the arch
of my back. I looked up and wished
it wasn’t you so badly, I cried
and you wiped away what you saw
to be a bead of sweat from my cheek.
It was January and the heater
was broken.
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 12:06 AM UTC
It was in the way your chest
concaved, convexed with my pulse
and with our ****** our bodies
beat rhythms into the walls
and floors; I was shaking
as your hand held up the arch
of my back. I looked up and wished
it wasn’t you so badly, I cried
and you wiped away what you saw
to be a bead of sweat from my cheek.
It was January and the heater
was broken.
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