Wrists

Wrists
Are resilient
The neck is a blank slate
The street where you live
Is quiet enough
To get caught
But loud enough
For a squeal like that
To go unnoticed
The night
Is still young
The day
Is still dead
Sunday goes to Wednesday
Like
THAT
And then the sleeping is
Good, the dreams and interruptions
Are serious and fun
All at the same
Time
And in between there's a tap on the shoulder
A twist of the arm
Look up, into my eyes
There it is
No
Don't look away, not like that
Because if you do, remember
Wrists are resilient but it still
Hurts and blank slates get filled
And nothing's too loud
With the music turned up
Like this
There's no such thing
As a quiet kiss