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Laying in bed one night
A cliché slasher film
buzzes in the backround of a dimly lit room,
but, I find it's all right--
She's there,
but I'm not afraid.
We lay there bathed in sheets, and aromas, while rolling our legs
over each other, like we were swimming
across some great and vast kiddy pool.
This is something I have grown too fond of
to lose, or to surrender.
She sighs, because I breathe so heavily in her ear,
and it jabs at her brain like a loud whisper.
Only she can make me feel so sound.
It's my own quirk, and, I find that maybe
she could never do without that.
She rolls over, and tells me
about how we'll be together forever.
It seems like we had been dating forever, or something like it.
We fit too well together right now, but I always wonder
If we had forever:
We'd grow bored of each other in less than a hundred years
and, we'll forget about each other soon after.
We'll be somewhere else, with someone else,
and just barely remember each other's faces (or their faces soon enough),
but this is what romance is:
a phase before my death.
No couple would last against time;
no attachment is impervious to boredom,
or hatreds,
so I'll die, very gladly, with just you.
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I doubt most of you will like it, and I feel that less of you will appreciate it.
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