Last Night

The sheets smell of weed
and my eyes are full of sleep.
The sheets smell of you
and the stains have vanished
now with the winter sun
itching its way over the trees;
they are skeletons across the road, always saluting,
always waving their brown branches
saying they can see me
see us
see our bodies move in the dark
in the grey light of a screen playing a forgotten movie
the lines, the orchestra, the guns, our groans;
the soundtrack as
we shift together,
crumple together, around each other,
a knot of limbs and skin and bones and scars.

Deer in headlights,
our eyes wide
mouths open
and shoulders shaking.

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