creeping underneath the cracks, through the shadows
of that display we hold—out
at arms length—as whisperers, lingering
but inches—inches—barely a soft sound surviving
the gentle purr, and all the room is moving and
we have disappeared?
Or are we better off baring it all—the uncomfort
in ourselves, naked and there, there, there:
rolling down our skin, saying to the room
There she is. There he is.
and suddenly, there we are, at the center—
we have been caught, you and I, wrapped up,
kissing and kissing on the bed—in the center of my room.
We rolled across our slippery skin, to our backs and stared
away. Far, far away.
What would we think, if we saw us here?
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