the cream soda bubbled up and spilled

on my favorite red t shirt, soft and warm

we sat laughing in the living room

generations of furniture

carelessly or generously left behind,

scattered around the room.

his legs perched on the stained futon, hers tucked tightly beneath her torso

you’re taking in deep breaths and i’m making up stories

to distract you from the somewhat sterilized needle

positioning itself to run right through you

into that half eaten apple.