Kourtnie Rodney, "Head, Almost"

He collapses onto her and exhales

Resting his forehead on hers

She eases back and sighs

The crown of her head, almost

Against the wall

Just tipped over the headboard

He always goes first

And she finishes by swallowing

Expectations, she knows, are a fantasy

Are fraying rope

If she goes she will be like her father

If she stays, like her mother

If she stays down the middle

Present, but silent

She will be like God

Maybe her inaction, her slowed blinking and breath

Could lead to a closer inspection

His collection of hairs, moles and freckles

Of inferences, of twitches

Obsession, then worship

Constantly rearranged and arrayed in his thoughts

Plucking petals

He’ll bring adornments

Maybe consider, then blow her

When she’s finally ubiquitous

Constant like dandelions

He’ll wade through her ominous silence

And still find her omnipresent

With a need to pluck the right string

Until its frayed rope