more intimate with the fit of a Gildan
shirt versus this thing hovering some
distance over my head always threatening
grey blonde grey depending on mood
secrets held in pinprick dots connected
across a sky—not fabric
I remind myself with steady
breaths forced as all above falls
closer, covers nose/mouth like pillow
smothering, sucking fibers
or air doesn’t matter anymore
she’s not into the come hither
motion as much, prefers me
scratching at wood as if buried alive
says it reminds her we’re slowly
suffocating in this narrow bed, under
stratigraphy of hair, student loan debt
god we should be full by now—have had
our fill, yet I can tell she’s waiting
for me to fall again: lips to waist one last taste
mouth on parts cave’s entrance mumbling
shelter shelter shelter, the words echo
as my eyes rolls back, I fall for sky.
image: Nathan Anderson
