Visiting production

You
did not ask
to enter
my life.
You arrived & I
invited you in.
Your eyes on the doorstep immediately burnt my face as the cigarette
you held in your hand burnt your lungs; you
sucked smoke in through your tender lips
sent it out again into the crisp cold night air.
We discussed the stars – what a cliché but there was
no subject
left untouched.
Then you touched me and I touched you back;
we fumbled.
Your hands on my skin, my face buried in your neck and it felt
Good.
Again you arrived, this time
Invited.
Uncertain we played
The game of life, ate
sausages.
Your stay inside me felt raw and awkward and this time we didn’t cover any subject
no conversation completed
only
text
miscommunication.