I remember when you asked
how expensive my shoes were
as if it mattered
knowing good and well
they would end up scattered
across your floor
even though
they were probably more deserving
of the care you give my skin.

your room speaks to me
in heavy language
Mr. King is so accusing
in the afternoon glow
diffused through your window
misleading time
like some plot hole in a movie
of sex and scandal

it's morning still.

You've finally caught
your dream
And I fight sleep
against the sound of
your lullaby
strung out along with
lonely guitars
their strings
jealous for your attentions
their bodies
longing to be held the same as me