Raleigh
It’s days like this that my mind returns to Raleigh
The pitch, sandy futon, and our intertwined deviant legs
Pushing for a fix
I for one goal, you for another
I would be more aware by the end of the night
of the smoothness of your forehead, and your full Latin lips
While you would know my hips
and fistfuls of my golden hair
We would each know the fire on our tongues
and the familiar feeling of a heavy mind, tossing and turning
chest to chest
I loved you, but was surprised to find your hands rough
and your lips untempered
Like a child, you indulged in me
without the mind for what I am, or the culture to know better
Though still, you press and carry me
under the door frame, to the floor
and as we rest, night continues to sink, like theatre canvas
And We are disposed to move
With your golden skin, you lie
As your fingers trace circles in my skin
I thought that you loved me too...
But when my mind returns to Raleigh
My thoughts return to you
and your cold bed, our swimming heads
and how at dawn, you dropped me off
My bitten skin looking redder in the tail lights
Copyright © Allison Ballard | Year Posted 2012
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