Sin-white curtains blow into the room and
out, taunting the window frames,
and we are all teased out and tumbling,
limbs splayed out, played in
a body gym. Built a connection
on quicksand
and watch it suck your body in
toes first, wiggling,
jiggling until you’re up to your knees
in missed texts and unanswered midnight calls.
She wants for nothing
but not being needed. She needs nothing
but to be wanted.
They watch the clouds turn darker
through the curtains,
translucent about what they are not
doing together. Waging love,
making storms.


Gripe here!

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