We drink purple cocktails with white foam on their surfaces that are nicer than what we normally drink, you in your shirt with stripes that match your sweater and me in my belt that matches my shoes, I tell you how I like to break into abandoned houses and you tell me how you like to chloroform people for fun, you tell me about being an administrative assistant and I tell you about reading PubMed articles on epithelial cells, and I lie in bed, maybe for years, wondering how you fall asleep so quickly, and feeling like the kind of state-funded sculpture made of people after they die, designed to appeal to everyone, the dead person standing on the bow of a boat or something, and then one day on a crowded beach I realize how easily you sleep is not the problem, but what keeps me awake, which is the absence of this woman lying on a towel, casually squeezing her own ass.
