We were making love.
And when we finished,
you stuck your head
under those blue covers
and told me to come
for you. And I came
and penetrated your
fortress and canoodled
your chest as you
planted pecks on my
forehead. Then we
rested, and I told
you of the next best
thing on television
and you told me of
the book you were
reading. We talked of
the news though that
changed quickly. And
you mentioned the
first time you made
out with someone was
with a foreign exchange
student named Klaus
at a homecoming game.
You looked into my
eyes with your bright
limes and asked, “Do
you remember the first
time we kissed?” And
I could not recollect
and you giggled and
said, “Oh, don’t bother,
just forget it.” I
regret I still can’t
recall. But ever since
that November, that
car crash in the fall,
I remember that day.
I remember the way our
stinky, moist bodies
melted and molded
together under those
blue covers, and I
remember what I knew
of you. And after my
tears dry, and I have
swiped the dust, I
admire the night
through the window.
I can still smell you
on my pillows, and I
hold on to your warmth.
Your warmth.
If this didn't turn you on and/or made you cry, please check to see if you are human. : )
