He plays piano on the bare of my back
Fingers tapping the ivory of my skin
Pressing the sharps on my shoulder blade
The stifling air beneath the blanket
Our legs clouded in humidity
Whispering
I can feel his breath mask my face in words
Words I don't quite believe but I don't bother to question
A day wasted
Tuberculosis of the spine
Lying in a bed watching digital numbers blind
Ears constantly perked
The door knob
We spring
Knobs
My arm slips on his stomach
Sweat lubricating
I tell him I like the way he smells
Truth is I can't smell anything at all
Unpleasant memories
I can feel my throat choke
Turning away, military companies sinking into the bedspread
Checking phones
I cling on
Don't go
But he makes his way out, and down
I stand outside and watch him leave
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