Andy

Lines ticked under our tires
as I biked behind his tight jeans
the way he pumped his legs
down into the pedals.

Wrestled into armpits
backs of knees
swimming trunks hovered under water
Our bodies were so warm.

We lay out on his roof in the summer
I rest my head against
his cheek
We talked about nothing.

Windows fogged over
flesh against raw wood
I made his portrait as he
read on my bed.

We sat at the stern
shirtless, at ease
Sailboat watched Lake Michigan over moonlight
We couldn’t even see the city.

When I was very young,
I stole the syrup, frequently
I sucked it
cold and thick
right out of the bottle.