Feet rubbing on your sheets,
back and forth,
back and forth.
Windshield wipers,
will you take it all away?
That look of absolute admiration on my face,
like the blonde girl in the movie.
I can’t remember which one,
but her eyes light up and she can’t stop smiling.
You have a beautiful smile.
And I’m rolling around on what feels like miles of mattress,
but you’re always right there.
Your warmth wraps around me like a quilt,
until I can’t tell where the heat is coming from.
I’m stretching from the headboard down to your alarm clock,
curled in a ball,
our spines barely touching.
You wrap around me like a spiral notebook.
It crinkles on the edges, but it’s still good paper.
And my pen traces the words
already written down in a million colors,
never failing to stray on the end of the y’s.
And we’re running out of the door, tugging your friends along.
Separated by the seat,
staring straight ahead,
I can see your expression without looking in the mirror.
And I see myself glued to you,
and know
that’s not how it has to be.
But there’s something elastic about your arms,
like bubblegum drawing back the sole of your shoe.
Somehow, you stick to me like the faint trace of your aftershave on my pillow.
