Addicts
We blend through, skin
like ghosts through walls.
Touching casually, at first.
Fingertips on thighs and hips,
starting on blushing lips
and your eyes reflect the night.
We say whatever we want:
The stars and moon,
lending their ears to our angst.
The dew settling close,
against our clothes…
We find them heavy and then,
we find them, strewn across
patios and furniture.
Plastic chairs and glass tables
trying to be like us, animated
and yearning, to be touched
like they are loved too.
Not neglected and left out to rot
in the rain and daytime sun.
So we hold each other close.
We are tall like buildings, and
our skin coruscates. Like desert sand,
that plastic chair and glass table
clasp us tight, because
we are frail.
Frail as the dandelion stems.
When the sun begins to rise,
we fade to bedrooms.
We fade to closets,
soft as clouds, or spring time.
Your eyes held that sunrise too,
but now, under those blankets
I can only see myself.
But, I will never forget that sunset.
