the pleasure seekers;
tender yet impatient, my lips graze your cheek, inviting you to bed. you shrug both of them off with a barely heard sigh and they retreat, dismissed. we collapse onto the 2 year-old mattress, stained with last week’s glass of wine. we, that is, my lips and i.
the bedside lamp flickers, casting shy shadows over my ribs. i turn to face your side of the bed and trace your worn-in silhouette with my careless fingertips before folding myself in beneath the covers and dreaming of a far away state where dismissal is replaced by acceptance and my lips replace the space between your own.