i suppose we could say we were not actually there, i could say i was not asleep on the boulder of your chest, maybe singe my eyes and pretend not to notice the hair on the back of necks tilted perpendicular to the floor.
when our tired bodies begin to regret dishonesty, they become advocates for intimacy without handcuffs.
all together alone,
the silhouette of jaws slice face like a machete.
i know i would rather sleep in bed from my chores with you than face the daylight, and though my shoulders thirst for the sun's rays i feel sanctity within your grasp lasting until sunset. your hair is a better resting place than my haunted pillow.