We are tall in our black and white clothes. You lick frosting off my fingers until they are new. You gently lay your slacks on the arm of a chair. Your fingers pull my zipper to the heart of my hips. We hear bulbs groaning in their fresh graves.
Curtains fly away from the sill.
I take a breath bigger than a bank. You kiss me on the lips. We put our black and white clothes to bed in long boxes with tissue paper. In the morning I smooth the white surf of our sheets as you put our white boxes out of reach.