While I sleep I drool and dream. Summer was composed of grass, cotton and rain. When the sky merged into the trees we were always looking up while laying down. What felt like wires were roots; our minds muted by technology. You suck your cigarettes hard but you kiss like you're afraid it hurts, soft soft soft. When we love we speak a different language and I can only imagine what you're trying to say and express as if we were artists. The webs of skin between our long fingers were as translucent as jellyfish in the motion-censor lights. The trees had webs too, a gift from the inmate spiders. Our twenty fingers played piano on each others bodies and together created a symphony Mozart would only understand when he fell in love. With smoke in your mouth you ask me what do I know about you. I know the color of your eyes in direct sunlight, I know the folds of your ears mimicking the interstates, I know how you take your coffee and the way your throat muscles move when you do.
Smelling of your shampoo, my brow still smells of my sweat regardless of the overpowering herbal soap you insisted on buying because of its organic roots. Your head is an exploding mine, asking if I said "orgasm" and I fire at your troops while I consider narcissistic suicide like Hitler. And you think, "this fucking war," fire in the war zone is the joint in the ashtray that I can't really see or smell but you ask politely if I could pick you up and take you out. You've got the munchies like every good soldier.