My textbooks, propped between our knees,
I study how this became
our hot dates and the way I get to lean
on your chest makes me tingly,
shallow-breathed,
but I shift around
so you don’t feel my heart bumping in
between the stillness
of our bodies.

—stillness—

We lay in the same bed and actually sleep;
no squeezing fingers and searching
mouths, but at least our clothes stay on
and I don’t have to search for my nightgown
shoved under wrinkled
sheets, or worry
about ****** wrappers
stuck to my skin.

Finished with our club meetings
and fundraisers, we act like weekend
warriors, clinking bottles in half-lit
rooms, sliding around, laughing
in each other’s faces
and once we’ve smoked our stress
away, I place your hand
under the ruffles of my skirt and kiss
your neck, whispering
                                 I want you
Please touch me
                  I need you
but you put your lips
to my forehead, mumbling
that you’re tired and won’t keep it up
because you’re strung out
on Red Bull and Adderall, promising
we will tomorrow night.