Sink

She's putting on her make up, adjusting her halter top, she turns to me, plants her lips on my forehead and it's autonomic: I smile.

"Us." she takes my jaw in both her hands, brushing our lips together as she breathes the word.

A Holiday Interlude

Her red lips, her bright hair. We're laying in bed, in a motel somewhere. We're naked and there's a show about a doctor on the television. We out lasted whoever we share a wall with. We sat and smoked a slow joint. Well, she curled around me, fingers teasing the welted out scratches she carved. Fingers playing, the quiet snap of electricity passing between us too.

"How warm is it supposed to be tomorrow?"

"Don't know."

"Warm?"

"Probably."

"S'good."