heart beats

the twist
of sky, a plume of violet
becoming blue
or is it grey, how the sun naps
behind
a thickened wall,
perhaps never
to appear again, and me
and you,
whispering to one another
as if the absence
of clothes
demands us to do so.
the window holds our attention,
for now,
the love lust sweat
upon us, drying,
our hearts
still tapping like feet,
like fingers and finally
like the water
falling
in fat tears against
the chrome drain
beyond.