My chin presses against his chest.
I look up to his eyes knowing
that when I can't sleep in his bed
his shirt will have to do.
His sweaty palms like a slug
slide from my jaw line to my collarbone
when he holds me like I'll break
and I am pale as porcelain.
His shower smell is dandruff shampoo
a sprig of rosemary
or the color green.
For a moment
I pretend we're perfect strangers
so he can make a good first impression
by recklessly tossing out song lyrics
that he prays I'll recognize.
I swallow his words, choking them down.
They float in a sea of me
crumpled into a swing-top, blue bottle
where I keep secrets
my imagination
last kisses
and repressed memories of his morning breath.
No comments:
Post a Comment