by Trevor
The first time I met Andy
in the living room we made a makeshift
tent of sheets. We strung lights that rattled
in protest when he landed
on the pillows. They rattled like hard candy
and he laughed back like a power surge.
I loved him. I loved the surge
of him. The way he was Andy
so no one else had to be. His candy
heart plucked a fandango on its makeshift
strings. When his eyes landed
on me my threatened insides rattled.
�Trevor,� his voice rattled
through our skinny house. His voice a surge,
a pulse, a beat landed precisely. Andy
made me sweat, but I liked that part best. Our makeshift
house splintered around us like broken candy
when we realized I loved him. We, like trails in Candy
Land, snaked around each other, we would�ve rattled
the bed but we had no room in the makeshift
house. In a surge
of everything Andy
was mine. We landed
on the floor. He bruised when we landed.
He arched up like heated candy
I caught my breath, �Andy.�
And around us the house rattled
He answered so I heard no surge
of blankets, chairs, and frustrated lights. The makeshift
house collapsed onto our makeshift
bed and when the chairs landed
on either side of us he laughed through the power surge
of angry winking lights. It was my own candy
heart we heard. It rattled.
And we knew. I kissed Andy.
In the wreckage of the makeshift house, kissing Andy
after chairs landed and after the power surge,
we loved each other and our little candy hearts rattled.
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