summer stumbling

you'd say,
"c'mere, honey,"
and you'd pull me up against your itchy sweater.
"sorry bout the beard sleeves," you'd say.
i wouldn't give a damn.
i'd tell you, "yeah, i bought a sweater once
with a puppy on it and i still can't figure out why.
that shit was itchy."
you'd stare off into the distance while i'd feel stupid-
my head on your shoulder,
yearning to look where you looked,
face forward, unattainable.
i'd want it more.

you told me my voice outshone the others.
"pffft," i said, "not likely."
i tossed and i turned
and only recently learned
how badly i wanted to quiet yours
with my lips
let you know how i felt in my signature
i-don't-know-what-to-say-so-here's-my-mouth
style.
but you might've tossed me out.

"please don't be straight,"
i thought the first time i saw you.
damn, i fell for you so hard
i ended up on the linoleum at your ghost feet.
telling lame jokes,
"my sweater must have 50,000 cat hairs,"
breathing your boozy breath deep.
you could've told me anything,
i'm up for all your stories.
i don't give a damn;
i'd be content to watch your diamond lips dance.

you'd play a record,
pull your muscle shirt over your head,
envelope my bony shoulders.
your soft whisper would burrow through my ears,
balloon into my lungs,
and trickle down my spine.
your hunger would fill my legs,
and my brain would be comprised
of truffula trees.
gasping for air, searching for a seed
of self respect.
your sweater would itch under my bare back,
forcing me to focus on
the film of sweat between our bellies.
95 degrees, no ac,
and i'd be happy.