I want your best friend.
In the darkness of your downstairs room
we were listening
to "green sleeves",
and drinking wine.
Oh, the wine
had been very cheap
and tasted like old cherry tomatoes
dirt and dust.
Still we drank deep
from our cracked, old cups
and from one another.
You were ontop of me,
dipping into the side of my neck
while I stared at your
popcorn ceiling.
Oh, the ceiling
looked almost grey
in the dim lighting.
The way what little light was hitting it
hypnotized me; (along with the steady movement of your bed
and the top of my head hitting your headboard)
slamming against the popcorn bumps
in almost exactly the same way
you were slamming against me.
Not much of a title, eh? Slipping back into old habits. Help me with a nicer title.
