a thousand hours
we always find ourselves half-slumped on the floor
drunk or not drunk
like one of jackson galaxy's categories
for types of cats
here you roll me in slow flops
your boots pressing against my spine
turning my hips over carpet
giggling in the orange dawn
here my tongue might tingle
with a lasting lightning
or you say, "this is intimacy"
holding only my eye
we are earth signs
floor dwellers
our roots have grown
entwined
