You lick the perfume from the crook of my elbow
and broach a smile, tangy scent emanating
from your delicate speech. You are talking.
Words, letters and delicate curls of an accent
go unheard in this instance, these five minutes
after.

We were playing high school again, we gave birth
to innocence in phrases that grew into unruly
teenagers - like us all over again. You whispered
'I really like you too' and I nurtured it from words
into the frenzied actions of 'Let's do this all the time
and again'.

Now, breast to breast, your nose brushes my cheek
and I inhale our mixture. Perfume breath, lidded eyes
and post-coital paw paw ointment swept against our lips.
We are nude, entangled, staring and knowing it is over,
but we keep the sheer sheets up, cocooning ourselves
against the melancholy of reality. Her girlfriend, my friend,
is almost home.

I take the front door, kick the curb, drive away and wear
your bra.

We are the same size.