Eros and/or Psyche


You lay there next to me,
You look like a worn pairs of sneakers,
All creases and scars.

I grab your hands and observe the square digits
The unusual reduced length of your index finger.

Your pupils so deep
I could almost fall into them.

In a panic, I choose not to.

Your square jaw,
So sharp it could slice me in half.

The sidelong glance you give me
Reveals the side of your shaved head
Now outgrowing itself.
Hair combed over the other side,
Your roots hidden.

You turn to lie on your stomach,
I stare at the isolated hair on your lower back,
And admire your creator’s detailing
Of your mole-flecked skin.


Your smooth voice rolls across the bed
A slight hoarseness
Like rocks on a river.

Benefic nature
Never raised.

And murmurs
Of worldly concern tremble
Between your lips

Trailing behind the occasional
Quiet chuckles that
Fall like dewdrops.


You usually smell like alcohol,
The whiskey sits on your breath
Like an anxious wedding guest
Searching for someone to talk to, a familiar face.

Your clothes sometimes smelling musty
Like the dust fanned
All over your shared bathroom.

A whiff of your hair
Some commercial fruity shampoo,
Its saccharine chemicals
Filling in my nostrils.

Your skin wafts
Of the clean lines of


Warm little fires
Between sheets

Your touch feels like a child
In need of sympathy

Hair as soft as
The undercoat of your friend’s kitten
That you take care of.

Thin limbs, death-gripped.


You taste like fresh linens
And a fruity cocktail of
Trident gum,

With an aftertaste
Of a frightened whisper.


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