A_Fellow_Documentor

callforamuse: This is a two-person poem titled “Pillow Talk.” A two-person poem is a poem told from two perspectives, with an optional middle ground to illustrate commonalities. In this case, I chose to illustrate the two perspectives and middle ground visually by aligning each section with the left, center, and right indentations. You may click the pictures above to view them in full size. I also include the text of the poem below (in a slightly less viewer-friendly format) for those who experience difficulty with the uploaded photos. Pillow Talk She Lays her head down On foreign soil. Pulls security under Cover of darkness. He Watches, cautiously Awaiting his moment. Then, pounce! Lips, hands, Legs, bodies, Touch. All she thinks is How good it feels To finally be wanted After so many ordeals. Contentment prevails. More, please. Tongues, fingers, Thighs, heads, Move. “I’m not that drunk.” “Figured you’d tell me When to stop.” Why is he going so quickly? “Can we… take a Minute… to discuss This?” “Nothing serious.” Maybe I led her on? There goes that gentleman idea. Look, you did it again: Going for the gold, Only to be blitzed. “But…” Arms lay haphazardly Across bodies, Keeping contact Alive. She buries herself In the crook of his neck. “What are my options?” He pauses, not wanting To hurt her. “Well, something short Of fuck buddies… Or friends.” Collective sighs And hopeful looks Go unexchanged. Where is the middle ground? Surely it lies not here In his bed. …Why is it always ‘option c’? “I’m sorry if I Led you on to Thinking more than that.” “No, it’s just… you Were a perfect gentleman. You acted like A boyfriend.” “I’m not sure How else to act, Honestly.” Faces find their Ways back to Each other. Noses touch, Press and tilt. Lips graze, then Collide. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this.” “Sorry. I won’t do that again If you don’t want me to.” But I do want You to. She carefully considers Her options, then Pulls away. Hands thump onto The mattress that Supports them, the Warm sea of Distance that Appears unending. Time passes. Clocks move Alarmingly slow. “The room is Spinning.” Damn straight, I’m sober now. A sweet, Consolation Kiss. What is he Thinking? France… Ex… Commitment… Hot. Intellectual. Conversation. Snore. She rolls around, But every place is Uncomfortable. Hands and legs go numb. Hair gets tangled, Ears smashed. He steals the blanket. She wakes, an hour Barely passed, Pressed against the Inside wall. How best to move Without waking him? Snore. Twitch. Choke. Stirs. Rolls. Sleeps. Cold, she twists Herself into herself, Cuddled near his back For warmth, but Not enough for him To get any Ideas. Beep. Beep. Beep. She wakes again, Splayed out on The dark sheets In an even darker Mindset. Daybreak. Shower. Coffee. Put it out Of your mind. I woke up like A disposable lover. What little did Sleep give her, She now puts into Smoothing things over. But it’s Just Over. callforamuse: This is a two-person poem titled “Pillow Talk.” A two-person poem is a poem told from two perspectives, with an optional middle ground to illustrate commonalities. In this case, I chose to illustrate the two perspectives and middle ground visually by aligning each section with the left, center, and right indentations. You may click the pictures above to view them in full size. I also include the text of the poem below (in a slightly less viewer-friendly format) for those who experience difficulty with the uploaded photos. Pillow Talk She Lays her head down On foreign soil. Pulls security under Cover of darkness. He Watches, cautiously Awaiting his moment. Then, pounce! Lips, hands, Legs, bodies, Touch. All she thinks is How good it feels To finally be wanted After so many ordeals. Contentment prevails. More, please. Tongues, fingers, Thighs, heads, Move. “I’m not that drunk.” “Figured you’d tell me When to stop.” Why is he going so quickly? “Can we… take a Minute… to discuss This?” “Nothing serious.” Maybe I led her on? There goes that gentleman idea. Look, you did it again: Going for the gold, Only to be blitzed. “But…” Arms lay haphazardly Across bodies, Keeping contact Alive. She buries herself In the crook of his neck. “What are my options?” He pauses, not wanting To hurt her. “Well, something short Of fuck buddies… Or friends.” Collective sighs And hopeful looks Go unexchanged. Where is the middle ground? Surely it lies not here In his bed. …Why is it always ‘option c’? “I’m sorry if I Led you on to Thinking more than that.” “No, it’s just… you Were a perfect gentleman. You acted like A boyfriend.” “I’m not sure How else to act, Honestly.” Faces find their Ways back to Each other. Noses touch, Press and tilt. Lips graze, then Collide. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this.” “Sorry. I won’t do that again If you don’t want me to.” But I do want You to. She carefully considers Her options, then Pulls away. Hands thump onto The mattress that Supports them, the Warm sea of Distance that Appears unending. Time passes. Clocks move Alarmingly slow. “The room is Spinning.” Damn straight, I’m sober now. A sweet, Consolation Kiss. What is he Thinking? France… Ex… Commitment… Hot. Intellectual. Conversation. Snore. She rolls around, But every place is Uncomfortable. Hands and legs go numb. Hair gets tangled, Ears smashed. He steals the blanket. She wakes, an hour Barely passed, Pressed against the Inside wall. How best to move Without waking him? Snore. Twitch. Choke. Stirs. Rolls. Sleeps. Cold, she twists Herself into herself, Cuddled near his back For warmth, but Not enough for him To get any Ideas. Beep. Beep. Beep. She wakes again, Splayed out on The dark sheets In an even darker Mindset. Daybreak. Shower. Coffee. Put it out Of your mind. I woke up like A disposable lover. What little did Sleep give her, She now puts into Smoothing things over. But it’s Just Over. callforamuse: This is a two-person poem titled “Pillow Talk.” A two-person poem is a poem told from two perspectives, with an optional middle ground to illustrate commonalities. In this case, I chose to illustrate the two perspectives and middle ground visually by aligning each section with the left, center, and right indentations. You may click the pictures above to view them in full size. I also include the text of the poem below (in a slightly less viewer-friendly format) for those who experience difficulty with the uploaded photos. Pillow Talk She Lays her head down On foreign soil. Pulls security under Cover of darkness. He Watches, cautiously Awaiting his moment. Then, pounce! Lips, hands, Legs, bodies, Touch. All she thinks is How good it feels To finally be wanted After so many ordeals. Contentment prevails. More, please. Tongues, fingers, Thighs, heads, Move. “I’m not that drunk.” “Figured you’d tell me When to stop.” Why is he going so quickly? “Can we… take a Minute… to discuss This?” “Nothing serious.” Maybe I led her on? There goes that gentleman idea. Look, you did it again: Going for the gold, Only to be blitzed. “But…” Arms lay haphazardly Across bodies, Keeping contact Alive. She buries herself In the crook of his neck. “What are my options?” He pauses, not wanting To hurt her. “Well, something short Of fuck buddies… Or friends.” Collective sighs And hopeful looks Go unexchanged. Where is the middle ground? Surely it lies not here In his bed. …Why is it always ‘option c’? “I’m sorry if I Led you on to Thinking more than that.” “No, it’s just… you Were a perfect gentleman. You acted like A boyfriend.” “I’m not sure How else to act, Honestly.” Faces find their Ways back to Each other. Noses touch, Press and tilt. Lips graze, then Collide. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this.” “Sorry. I won’t do that again If you don’t want me to.” But I do want You to. She carefully considers Her options, then Pulls away. Hands thump onto The mattress that Supports them, the Warm sea of Distance that Appears unending. Time passes. Clocks move Alarmingly slow. “The room is Spinning.” Damn straight, I’m sober now. A sweet, Consolation Kiss. What is he Thinking? France… Ex… Commitment… Hot. Intellectual. Conversation. Snore. She rolls around, But every place is Uncomfortable. Hands and legs go numb. Hair gets tangled, Ears smashed. He steals the blanket. She wakes, an hour Barely passed, Pressed against the Inside wall. How best to move Without waking him? Snore. Twitch. Choke. Stirs. Rolls. Sleeps. Cold, she twists Herself into herself, Cuddled near his back For warmth, but Not enough for him To get any Ideas. Beep. Beep. Beep. She wakes again, Splayed out on The dark sheets In an even darker Mindset. Daybreak. Shower. Coffee. Put it out Of your mind. I woke up like A disposable lover. What little did Sleep give her, She now puts into Smoothing things over. But it’s Just Over.

callforamuse:

This is a two-person poem titled “Pillow Talk.”

A two-person poem is a poem told from two perspectives, with an optional middle ground to illustrate commonalities. In this case, I chose to illustrate the two perspectives and middle ground visually by aligning each section with the left, center, and right indentations.

You may click the pictures above to view them in full size. I also include the text of the poem below (in a slightly less viewer-friendly format) for those who experience difficulty with the uploaded photos.

Pillow Talk

She

Lays her head down

On foreign soil.

Pulls security under

Cover of darkness.

He

Watches, cautiously

Awaiting his moment.

Then, pounce!

Lips, hands,

Legs, bodies,

Touch.

All she thinks is

How good it feels

To finally be wanted

After so many ordeals.

Contentment prevails.

More, please.

Tongues, fingers,

Thighs, heads,

Move.

“I’m not that drunk.”

“Figured you’d tell me

When to stop.”

Why is he going so quickly?

“Can we… take a

Minute… to discuss

This?”

“Nothing serious.”

Maybe I led her on?

There goes that gentleman idea.

Look, you did it again:

Going for the gold,

Only to be blitzed.

“But…”

Arms lay haphazardly

Across bodies,

Keeping contact

Alive.

She buries herself

In the crook of his neck.

“What are my options?”

He pauses, not wanting

To hurt her.

“Well, something short

Of fuck buddies…

Or friends.”

Collective sighs

And hopeful looks

Go unexchanged.

Where is the middle ground?

Surely it lies not here

In his bed.

…Why is it always ‘option c’?

“I’m sorry if I

Led you on to

Thinking more than that.”

“No, it’s just… you

Were a perfect gentleman.

You acted like

A boyfriend.”

“I’m not sure

How else to act,

Honestly.”

Faces find their

Ways back to

Each other.

Noses touch,

Press and tilt.

Lips graze, then

Collide.

“I’m sorry.

I can’t do this.”

“Sorry. I won’t do that again

If you don’t want me to.”

But I do want

You to.

She carefully considers

Her options, then

Pulls away.

Hands thump onto

The mattress that

Supports them, the

Warm sea of

Distance that

Appears unending.

Time passes.

Clocks move

Alarmingly slow.

“The room is

Spinning.”

Damn straight,

I’m sober now.

A sweet,

Consolation

Kiss.

What is he

Thinking?

France… Ex… Commitment…

Hot. Intellectual. Conversation.

Snore.

She rolls around,

But every place is

Uncomfortable.

Hands and legs go numb.

Hair gets tangled,

Ears smashed.

He steals the blanket.

She wakes, an hour

Barely passed,

Pressed against the

Inside wall.

How best to move

Without waking him?

Snore.

Twitch.

Choke.

Stirs.

Rolls.

Sleeps.

Cold, she twists

Herself into herself,

Cuddled near his back

For warmth, but

Not enough for him

To get any

Ideas.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

She wakes again,

Splayed out on

The dark sheets

In an even darker

Mindset.

Daybreak.

Shower.

Coffee.

Put it out

Of your mind.

I woke up like

A disposable lover.

What little did

Sleep give her,

She now puts into

Smoothing things over.

But it’s

Just

Over.

# poem Poetry Two-person poem

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