Last night, your fingers woke my skin up for a midnight conversation.
I heard the hitch in your breathing when I rolled into your touch;
your lungs always grow heavy with the sound of my mouth
letting out little wisps of your name into the darkness.
Icy shards of air from the open window
sank like daggers into my hipbones
trailing goosebumps down my legs
when you pulled the blanket away,
my eyes taking in the curve of your shoulder
into the warmth of your chest with nothing but the
far-away bathroom light to guide my lips.
An ambulance sounded in the distance, the high pitched whine
of the siren matching the noises I exhaled
into your neck when your calluses brushed against my ribs.
Caught between a pillow and the pressure of your weight,
my wrists rebelled against being forced down
when it had been days since they’d claimed
the territory lining your spine.
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