I lost the rhythm of my heart
when my toes curled over those
chemically white grooves of
safety and bleach-ridden tile.

tightly, I wrung my right hand through your hair,
while the left imposed on your hip.
light sprinted past your scalp,
scampering over the night-riddled tangles
while we refused to detach from the grip of morning.

the palm of my skull,
my temple and cheek,
were a part of your hard skin, cleansed from dirt but
laden with chemical residue.

I was afraid your tattoo would leave an impression.

no words fell from our swollen tongues,
saving the humidity from pollution:
we gripped each other’s thoughts straight from the throat.

I ripped away my head from your chest, unzipped
my eyes to stare past airborne drops of liquid
straight into yours
while I gripped onto you all the harder.

finally, the marketing schemes and skin cells
were rinsed and toweled,
leaving us smelling
like everyone else in this,
yet another,
hotel.