Saturday 7/07/2007 12:05:00 AM

She matched him piss for piss. Words a membrane to facilitate the change from conversation to intercourse. The whisper of raindrops like zippers coming undone. Belt buckles trembling to the quiver of her grip. On stern handles made of newness. In aluminum bedrooms wrinkled before we had even begun. I counted the every drop of urine. Those tiny prayers we blink to gods that can only see us when we're undressed.

In drawings of people. Where the curves overlap. Scribbles really. Arms defaulted to a curl. Legs swelling hard from an awkward scrawl of abdomen. An abandoned beehive rancid with honey.

What did I do then that I don't do now to negotiate the boredom gracefully?

Piss for piss they raced. Two hares without a tortoise. Winning. Always winning. Beating each other. Finding the creases. Pulling the shapes from fragile sheets of skin.

Every face empty paper. Every touch urine.

Wasted.

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