after a story about listening to dance metal the night before,
we settle into film evening, mixing M&Ms into our popcorn
(her idea, not mine), which serves as thanks for glory,
before she even kisses me deadly tonight, another battle lost and won,
before the bishop's spotlights turn a thousand stars into ours.
the projector makes shadows on the trees,
and our knees become a tangled knot of legs and denim,
ignoring plot and iPhones, because I am...having fun...
feeling like a teenager for the first time since
I was an actual teenager.
she knows my past and present, yet she still
puts her head on my shoulder and shoves
her tongue down my throat, as if tomorrow is the end
of the world...and it may be...so tonight we hit play,
only pausing to pee or make jokes.
with a request for laughter,
I told her a story about a man's dentures falling out,
but him catching them, and she says thanks, she needed that,
as well as a Saturday surprised by the new Ghostbusters,
and she doesn't believe I have a Ghostbusters tattoo on my butt, so I show her.
with a request for her to stop laughing at my choices,
she shows me a poorly covered up tramp stamp,
and shrugs about Long Island in the 90s,
then the world stops spinning and we make love in backyard blankets,
not caring about ghosts witnessing it all.