i find you under the covers
tucking hair from your eyes
and smelling like hotel soap.
duck into the swimming air warm nervous
breaths spent and doubled gambling against
pulses and eyes separating the
jumble of desert hues
your hair my hair our skin
charged skin with hairs standing up
blue eyes brown pupils growing out
and in we are this cloth cave held by bodies
your chest a wall weighing down
i want and you but this is
worries wind in my
head should i know what to do how do you feel do
you like my smile should i laugh can you read this in my eyes
you shift your weight
and nose to nose i see-
with a snap of sheets,
cool air
stuns my eyes my lips my
neck-
About the Creator
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More stories from Rory DeMaio and writers in Poets and other communities.
Disarmament
They say there's no atheism in the foxhole. While I wasn't currently neck-deep in a river of soft sediment, I was still praying to whoever would listen. Why am I doing this again? I would ponder while staring at the device that in no less than a minute could be my undoing. I scanned each and every variable panel and commonplace button as I watched the bright red L.E.D ticker countdown. No wires to cut, no code to put in, there was only one way to stop this infernal machine, and that incurred perfect timing.
By James U. Rizzi3 days ago in Fiction
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