Pillow Talk

Heart is bristled bark

beside stark, unearthly chalk

of burnt-out embers.

Did you not enjoy the flames?

Dusky dance of campfire games.

Yes, summer scorched us

red raw, and stung by your touch

I shed skin like leaves.

Tongues congealed in sticky knots.

Skin aflame like sun-kissed rocks.

I remember this:

pillow talk shorn of substance

since that soft, spring dawn.

Oh, I would not be so sure.

We were. Dare you ask for more?