First name basis.

We sleep this way sometimes,

all rocking beds

and broken floorboards

where the exhibitionist in us

keeps the curtains open,

but courtesy keeps the windows closed.

She only ever pulls my hair

on the right side

and some nights

we like to fuck on the balcony.

It feels like a limbo relationship

where only first names need to be remembered

and the taste of salt

is where we left what looked like bruises,

where we pulled each others blood to the surface.

These all become recognized

for the itch they are,

something to be scratched,

something to feel wanted,

something to remind us

that anything can happen

where a connection is made

when unlikely nights out

collide with early mornings

and fall into the grease stained pans of breakfast.

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About Sean O'Gorman

Spoken Word poet from Ottawa. View all posts by Sean O'Gorman

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