Ft. Myers, Florida
We were sleeping in beds arranged like it was 1955:
me in one bed and you in the other, separated by maybe six feet.
It made us laugh; we were so in love.
I had already kneaded both of your breasts, coated each nipple
with my spit, and buckled you, legs overhead, to a backboard
while stabbing you deep in the center of our shared tryst.
The irony of those beds—we laughed like devils.
Later, I watched from six feet as you slept,
without the slightest suspicion of what
I miss you now more than you’ll ever understand.