We are testing the perimeter
of this eighty-dollar futon.

It creaks, a vessel
blindly indentured to its voyage,

the glacial severance
that numbs my skin.

I remember warmth; your slow kisses
afloat on my freckled shoulders.

Now, I can see my breath
and I am forced

to listen to
the outrageous racket
of your sleep,

the fog friction
of you against the sheets.

Alexis, you have night terrors that sound like wet rope
tethered to worn wood.

You untie
and push off of my body,
breaking ice as you go,

like a boat: sick of frigid white,
desperate for the ocean’s wet indigo.