A white hill rolls from the fabric
Of the sheets.
The guys cover their hard-ons
With popcorn boxes.
Girls shoot uncomfortable glances,
The good ones move like
Lascivious cats, clasping
Pinkies in the silent theater.
Her crimson shoulder is uncovered
As he disappears again
Beneath the blanket.
We picture not so much those two
Tiny buds
But the white of her back
And her sleek anemic belly.
From the agonized look on her face
You’d think she were
Thrusting her mid-section.
We can’t be sure.