StrawberryBurst

we bend like parentheses, enclosing each other's asides. every adjustment of your lips means more words that i can extract before you swallow them. i measure your hand against mine. our heart lines overlap. the fan, meanwhile, churns out one more rotation. you tap out morse code on my hips and i drink lukewarm tap water out of a wine glass, my upper lip lingering on the dry rim as though it were your mouth. our eyes exchange ellipses. the wall is cold against my back. perhaps the sun comes up, but your blinds censor the light. we wouldn't know. the room is reduced to the color of a kiwi's skin. above the windows, bull