You graze my areola,
You tell me I’m boring,
This is the moment
I silhouette the cloud above.
This cloud is a nimbus,
Ebbed and puckered
Like your lips
To my collarbone.
The blanket beneath me
Has absorbed the groundwater
At the edges
As the snow in the brush slowly melts
And my knees flush with your cheeks
As you squeeze mine
So tightly I wince
Just slightly,
So you think it’s because
I’m having fun
As the sun begins to set
Above the recesses of my schoolbag
And my snowboots
And my bra
And you cared enough to drape your jacket beneath them
Those things you do not care about
To enter the another thing
You do not care about.