white lines
propped on my morning elbow
dust trapped the warm sunlight reflected in your mirror
i woke to realize it was spring
through the space under your blinds
the sun laid siege on the very edges of our bodies
outlining the ridge of your ribs peaked hip bones smooth dip into upper thighs
our forms were reduced to two white lines
intertwined and intercepting one another
glinting chalk curves, like the afterglow of a television left on too late
i imagined that those lines were art
the kind that hangs in museums
where the bourgeois like packs of lions mingling
attack the canvasses with a critic's eye
feasting on those two white lines
reduced to thin chalk on a black backdrop
the patrons know nothing of this:
the skinny white joint we smoked plunging towards our first kiss
we: queer, unlimited, undefined
but, somehow i think they will know, objectively,
that you will always ask me if i want
tea or oranges, though you know i hate them
