curled on blue stained comforter
your head on my thighs — I run short fingers
through white–gold
silent, speak of men we have known love, we have imagined
digital glow reminds me
you must drive skidding soon through rain —
turn my body to shield your eyes
if only I didn’t know what you’d do
if I kissed you
perhaps I’d kiss you
and see what you’d do.