pheromones and faults

by Steven J. Serafiani

It’s intimate isn’t it,
the way your breath glazes my neck,
tucked away under my flesh,
arms wrapped,
my eyelash crumpled on your cheek,
our chests rising in unison,
skin goosebumped and warm,

this bed is fucking small,
that tree branch scratching the window,
I really don’t like the artwork you hung,
I also dislike your taste in music,
can’t wait for sunlight.
your god damn cat is tightening my throat,
skin freckled and cold.