04-03-2013, 01:19 AM
Sleepovers in Cinemascope
"We're friends, right?" Your hands find their place on my waist,
hiding in my t-shirt the way puppies hide in the ballooning sheets of a made bed.
"Best friends?" Your mouth lays on my skin like wrapping paper
litters the floor of a christmas morning.
The overture for Spartacus bellows in the next room
to empty seats and full cups of coffee that have since gone cold.
We were fools for thinking we could actually watch a three hour movie
before ending up on the floor, black jeans balled up in the corner,
bruises on bruises and tattoos on tattoos.
You press a warm dry palm against the compass rose on my back
and trace every direction from my ribs to my tailbone.
"This one's my favorite", you whisper into the well of my collar
as the wasps fly away and die against the window.
Your medical tag falls out of your shirt and lays a cold kiss on my neck.
I faintly hear Spartacus through the walls, being sold into slavery.
"We're friends, right?" Your hands find their place on my waist,
hiding in my t-shirt the way puppies hide in the ballooning sheets of a made bed.
"Best friends?" Your mouth lays on my skin like wrapping paper
litters the floor of a christmas morning.
The overture for Spartacus bellows in the next room
to empty seats and full cups of coffee that have since gone cold.
We were fools for thinking we could actually watch a three hour movie
before ending up on the floor, black jeans balled up in the corner,
bruises on bruises and tattoos on tattoos.
You press a warm dry palm against the compass rose on my back
and trace every direction from my ribs to my tailbone.
"This one's my favorite", you whisper into the well of my collar
as the wasps fly away and die against the window.
Your medical tag falls out of your shirt and lays a cold kiss on my neck.
I faintly hear Spartacus through the walls, being sold into slavery.