Your lipstick glows in the dark
or it seems to
by the light of the t.v. screen
or maybe I just want to see your lips
and I’m lighting them up
by the power of my mind.

In the dark places
I want to kiss you.
I want to run my fingers through your hair
long after the national anthem
on the CBC.
Let’s fall into it,
a nocturne for two with a television remote.
Destination: infomercial nirvana.
Let’s count wonderful facial hair removal systems
with a tactile examination
of the contours of each other’s faces
and number the pills to prolong sexual endurance
with some sexual endurance of our own.
Let’s fall asleep to the bright bars of color
of an ever-whining test pattern
that gives way at dawn to the early morning news.

Let’s go to it,
the daylight is fleeting
and I’m debating how much coffee
I need to brew.