veined white wash walls
pulsed more pain
than a single house
should contain.
we whispered worries,
beautiful betrayals,
and tired truths
our minds refused to hold.
I hear
soft words
birthed slick and wailing
beneath undertones
of your labored breathing,
like honey coated thunder.
I try to keep
my own thoughts
from leaving
sweet sticky sweat
stains on these white suede walls.
you call me sugar,
with breath that slips
through parted lips.
my left hand picks
out the grey shape
of the alarm
off
morning yawns,
but I want to hear
you sleep.
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