Your hand in mine I can smell your breath from here feel its heat on my ear hair at angles against the blue wallpaper eyes open just enough to savor your smile your hand in mine
On the windowsill looking in, one claw clutching the wooden rim, on leg tucked in beneath a wing. Used condom laying on the edge of the bin, its contents starting to smell,
Lose concentration and let it slip, feel it fall along the sandy grain of your fingertips, I watch as it drops, and I watch as it hits, and I see when it stops on the bottom step, then see as it cracks, and begins to leak. It trickles round, down, between my toes, and looking up at you in the light of the doorway, you looking down at me in the dark water rising at the bottom of the stairs. It fills my mouth and it feels my lungs and it swallows my heart, and I am sand now, I am the shore, and you are water now, you are the ocean, and you stand and look down forgetting I was ever there. Lose concentration and let it slip, feel it fall along the grain of my fingertips.
There is grass between my bare toes, there is heat on the back of my neck, and your sweaty hand is resting in my sweaty hand, but neither of us let go. That is all, nothing is spectacular.