THE MOVIES.

12:43 PM on Friday the 12th

I remember a time when your boxers took up all the space in my underwear drawer. I remember a time, when you would come home at the crack of dawn, hands of ice all over my body. I felt like we were in a city of “US” and all the lights were so alluring, so pretty, distracting us both from flags of the color red. But who is to notice red when you are covered in sheets of white.

I close my eyes, some time after noon, my lids doubling as projector screens. A matinee. Steam hitting the kitchen window, you’re making meat; the humidity shaping black baby curls around your face, the heat. The neighbors must have thought our love was titanic, all the steam on all the windows. 

You always told me the movies were not real;

But I loved them anyway.