*inspired by the song "Lover's Spit" by Broken Social Scene.
Golden red, your arms were a sinewy fence around
my form as we sat on the fire escape overlooking
a schizophrenic town.
Your lips tickled my cheek and I stroked the back
of your head, twisting
my fingers in your burnt wheat-colored strands.
"Remember when we used to get excited over
the smallest things," I asked.
"Like kissing awkwardly and
stumbling through doorways,
dragging in the scent of fresh
cut grass and angel's sweat?"
"Yeah," you said. "But let's play it out again,
baby, before Philadelphia