Until the credits roll, while an upholstered arm
and a floor that’s lava are all that separates
a heart beating into futon from
a breath accelerating over sofa,

but the cowboy shoots, you shriek,
the rocket lands, you squeal, the baby
cries, you coo, the lovers fight,
you squeak, and you lean—do you lean

towards me? Do you lean into imaginary
companion? Into a side of yourself?
Do you lean into space? Lean into leaning?
Do you lean in to lean?

first published in Suburban Witchcraft Magazine