I.
our toes sift the smoke-seared carpet,
together. i watch them, twenty
white mice, burrowing into
nonexistent holes.
your toes
are next to my toes.
i can't believe you're here.
II.
still, i keep you at my throat;
still, i know the press of your lips;
still, the scar on my hip
is a magnet for your palm.
only one season has passed.
did we expect our bodies
to turn traitor
so soon?
III.
under vellux and linen,
we leave pools of heat:
every cell a sin,
we, the king and queen
of fire.
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 10:52 PM UTC
I.
our toes sift the smoke-seared carpet,
together. i watch them, twenty
white mice, burrowing into
nonexistent holes.
your toes
are next to my toes.
i can't believe you're here.
II.
still, i keep you at my throat;
still, i know the press of your lips;
still, the scar on my hip
is a magnet for your palm.
only one season has passed.
did we expect our bodies
to turn traitor
so soon?
III.
under vellux and linen,
we leave pools of heat:
every cell a sin,
we, the king and queen
of fire.
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