Plan
by Karlyn Milsun
The evening’s lazy breath has made you
so slick I can not touch you;
dampened to the bone, even your eyelids
glisten with an ease. Push back your
hair to the valley of your thoughts.
Before, you were circling till the
tiles burned, waiting for the stick
to change. We watched the window
highlight the one pink-red streak
we could afford, and you breathed till
your body found the mattress, your limbs
loose as rags and all anxiety dead now —It
was what we both wanted, but I can not
help but notice how your fingers trace
my body and clasp the entirety of my hands;
Your stare as empty as your breathing, and
your palms, pausing mindlessly above my insides.
