When I’m bored I play a game
on my phone called Design Home.
I met the only woman I’ve been with at a party.
The premise is simple: buy furniture,
and decorate virtual rooms: living
rooms, bedrooms, kitchens.
I noticed her cropped blonde hair as she leaned
on a leather barstool, her taut arm
making her collarbone stick out. I wanted her
collarbone in my mouth.
The truth is I get bored more often
than I would care to admit, so to avoid spending
real money on imaginary sofas, I’ve connected
the game to my Facebook account.
We made eye contact as I sat, my legs
resting in front of me: an invitation.
This lets me borrow my online friends’
fake furniture to fill my fake rooms.
We kissed at the end of an oak dining table,
not caring who could see us.
Love is a black IKEA bed, the metal
headboard cold against our grasping hands.
It was never necessarily a secret.
At the same time, it was.
When I left in the morning she kissed me, said find me
on Facebook. I reach out to her when I miss her
(miss women). I borrow an armchair, a stool, a tall shelf.
She will receive a notification.
When I see her again I will tell her I am building
a home for us inside my pocket. We will kiss.
She will say togetherness is so simple.
We will kiss again.