Nothing Between Us
The flicker from an unwatched game show
casts the faded lampshade’s shadow on the motel wall
dancing its eerie dance up the cream wallpaper
as our bodies intertwine in rumpled sheets.
This night is not about intimacy
not about tenderness
not about the joining of souls.
Tonight is for lips and fingertips
the sheen of sweat-slicked skin on skin
the panted breath
the ecstasy and the whirlwind.
Our bodies pressed, we are so close
there is nothing between us
and all we are together in this clandestine room of shadows
dances up the pallid walls.
Emmett Ross is a freelance writer and stock trader living in Philadelphia, PA. His work has been published in Orchards, The Literary Hatchet, and Calliope.