I dance with you.
We do
this timid, light waltz
where we pretend we are ghosts.
I touch your shoulder,
you take my hand.
I vibrate with regret
then let you
fall through.
You hit the floor
then flip me the bird.
I dance with you.
We do
this strange, complex tango
where we pretend we are polar ions.
You touch my waist,
I grab your hand.
You dip me low,
then let me go.
I fall to the floor
then kick at your knees.
I dance with you.
We do
this clumsy, wild swing dance
where we pretend we are four.
I whirl you about.
You match my speed.
But our arms are weak,
so we let go
and slide to the floor.
We lay on the floor
having just l
The swelling pinholes in your blue–black quilt
reminds me of the times spent making forts.
Binding and building with pillow made stilts
we guarded our bastion from vile hordes.
The musk still smells like your cherry candy scent
that clung to you those summer days dreaming.
Sweet and thick like syrup given to the sick
but fading due to the stench of aging.
Like the gaps that riddle your favorite cloth
the holes in my memory grow larger.
As if time were feasting like a starving moth
while the moments between us spread farther.
Your face is lost beneath these tattered sheets
our bastion collapsed in silent defeat.