one third of the way into the lotion
we’re rehearsing
a lotion rehearsal
I play Kolya
drinking chamomile tea
I cling to the part
sweaty perspective
I’m not so sure I’m blue anymore
it’s just a quest for the
exotic
butterfly
the clouds he painted seem secure
in their respective poses
one smug
one coy
one raises its hand
asks for my name
I promptly give it
he promptly calls
we rent a movie
don’t watch it
a tall pianist
his songs come in moments of grief
proud to be submissive
they never end
I would love to hear him play
we are soaked in sweat
or is it just me
my imaginary student
a weight on my shoulders
poor victim that I am
