His pink tie pink shirt brown skin match my pink laced dress brown lacy leggings.
He dances with me but for an audience; I dance for no one except I play with him.
Moments rush laughter, more alcohol, more stumbles, more doubt.
We do not touch each other as we drop into our deep sleeps;
Our four star hotel pulses with the trains.
In the morning he pouts. Where has tough guy gone?
My shield and his sulk cloak the room. No pretend kiss could break it.
Stomach burns with unnamed feelings- none of them are good.
When he smiles, I remember why we’re there.
We can take our wall and smash it, fuck like rabbits, love deeply until it crashes as fast as
it ignited. We could marinate in the melted goo of each others’ core till we dissolve in a delusional lovesick high, apathetic self-preservation, or bland bitterness due to
mind molestation and too much information.
I could close my eyes and feel slowly, let my hands grab at the air in a sulfur tunnel, sulfur sight, sulfur breath, put my hands along the wall to feel my way out, and on the way, if they land on him, there’s my answer.
We can accept that each kiss has its own level of honesty, talk for three hours on the train, walk gently, walking cotton brushing by-
I could curl in my room self-satisfied, alone, free from seeking affirmation.
My doubts could swallow me, jagged shark’s teeth, I’ll soft gaze at him like a
gum wrapper and keep on walking.
He can smile, and if he inhales my breath and sails it back without a beat,
There would be my answer, if there was one.