One From the Vaults

Found this little piece of nonsense, written in college. Not even sure who it was about.


You casually asked me what I had seen in you.
It was well-timed for a loaded question.
You lay on your back and I lay on you with my head on your shoulder
and we were both languid, but awake.
I was thinking about how soft your skin was
and hoping that you would think about how my brown eyes are deep and dangerous like foreign coffee: hot enough to burn to tongue with a fierce kick at the finish.
You said it with the same cool curiosity as if you had asked me “heads or tails?” and deftly flicked a quarter off your thumb without looking.
I heard the sentence swell and subside like a warm wave of ocean
curled around the edges with foamy self-consciouness,
building itself up with genuine curiosity,
and finally hissing back down into the fine sand with the satisfaction of getting the whole question out just right.
I know it must've taken you four or five tries in your head.
I heard the very effort you were trying to conceal, I heard the shyness, and loudest of all I heard you grappling with the awkwardness, a dune between us.
So I squinted and did my best Bette Davis
and gave you a flippant answer.