The Movie Saying Our Names

~

I see the love on the screen clawing past death.

We watch as the world consumes us; we

watch as the final credits start to roll. You ask,

Could the final survivors be us?

The weak in me argues, before I answer, to

be realistic. The doorbell rings. Our

neighbor is interrupting our movie. I walk out, arms

free, wearing a tank top. He asks:

Teach me how to want to be free.

I stop myself from laughing in front of

his face until I punch my number into his phone. I

want to remember having that enthusiasm.

Son, remind me your name— the film started again, as if

to haunt me;

to remind me that I hold my name in my palms. I might

be a coward, but at least I am alive. You

paint my face with your tears, cupping them with your fingers.

So we let the movie keep playing.

The speakers get quiet as you grab at my body. So

much resolve left unreleased. You call me a

tool. You grab my shirt but pull back a second after. There are

less marks on your stomach than mine. You

shed your shirt, I follow. You form a kiss on my back, larger

than the marks in front.

All that is left is the two of us & the futon we’re sitting on.

What does this mean for us? You ask.

Afternoon actualizes itself in my throat.

I am afraid of opening my mouth. Your hands,

soon, on me. In my mind, I ask myself: Is this all I

am? I grab at your shoulders. Your hands,

they worship my lips. We are the

small wonders here. We

wrestle & you take me. We wrestle & morning arrives in me.