I make my bed slightly
uncomfortable to be a little
unlike you, but truth is I am like
you: boredom written in our veins
like movie scripts
scrawled on the insides of folded
receipts and gum wrappers.
Every time I walk in you seem sinking
in sheets. You tell me to knock.
I tell myself to knock. Your mattress is
soft; you sink in it;
it hurts my back,