At the Movies
You turn towards me
I feel your salted breath
on my neck, whispering
words I cannot hear
The movie starts
with gay music
and motormouths
I see you turn away
the orange light
fixing a glow to our skin
my green shirt
turns sour
In a bath of dark
your hand
clammy, reaches
for the skin of my
shoulder, slides
to the ridge of bone
I watch the film
through the watery lens
of my eye
its surface shifts with each scene
like a pond through a storm