Sunday Afternoons

Cheeks, a flushed pink
from the rustling of zippers
and the catching of sleeves.
A snag, ignored and cast
to the floor like ambitions.

A physical metaphor for
an emotional state.
Striped. Exposed. Lost.
in the layers of cotton, and self.
An understanding.

Seeing eachother
in the same light,
carefully cast through
coloured and patterned drapes.
A sense of saultry inocence.

All I want is you.