Movie Night

You didn't notice when I sprawl across you on the couch. You are busy popping pimples on your cheek, staring dewey-eye'd and dreamy at the television screen. You're fascinated with your pimples, with the motion of popping them; the way a tiny pore can burst between your fingers. The soreness, the tenderness, the pain right before release. The final breath, that sweet relief. I lean closer into you, our bodies already intertwined. You look at me as I gently pull your hand away from your face, you wonder what I'm doing. You smile and I smile too. I hold your face with my hands, we don't speak. I run my fingertips across your cheek and pinch lightly where your hand had been. Then I pinch harder and your pimple bursts, a small moan escapes when you exhale, I can feel your hot breath on your face. We both laugh, because there really is nothing else to do.