The Opponent Has Hidden Our Ark of the Covenant Again
Because your room is cold and we don’t hold each other anymore, you embrace me with your Marc Ecko cut-and-sew hoodie. I’m Marion, you’re Indy. We are made of Legos. We play games on tv, lying on your broken bed, feet entwined, we giggle, press buttons as I hit you with a shovel and you encircle my waist with your whip, pull me in for a virtual kiss.
Later when we talk, you refuse to hold my hand, pace around the periphery, jangle loose change, won't look at me. At home I spritz your creamy jacket with perfume and rose water, sleep inside its hollows, wear it, you, everywhere so when I return it, you won’t forget my smell.
We both know you’re a liar, you still love me. We’re just afraid to open the Xbox.