Jacklyn Janeksela, Graduate

Originally Published, Spring 2009

how could we watch a Woody Allen film
when all we wanted was to be pressed
against each other
in no particular manner
clothes or no clothes
faces or bodies
the dark screen, the terrible picture
the empty bed behind us
me, wearing a striped shirt
that you pulled from an open closet
a glass of strawberry pulp
continued to melt in the kitchen
the breakfast you prepared
we tried to be quiet, sweet little intellectuals
but failing miserably I decided
to stay even quieter
the hiccup of a rabbit
the footsteps of a beetle
I was supposed to leave
and just be a memory on your pillow
a smell inside your apartment
a minor accomplishment
instead, we talked about writing and kissing
and I listened to you talk about Bukowski
I watched you pull records from your collection
and place the needle gently on the lined black surface
I was desperate to hear something
sitting on the edge of the couch
waiting, one of us could have leaned back
and pulled the other one down
one of us could have looked at the other
and said yes


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