In my roommate's black
tempur-pedic bean bag chair
we watch Ben Foster playing
Eli, a special kid, on that show.

You sigh and nuzzle closer
to my gray, sweatshirt-covered
chest, readjusting your neck,
trying to get comfortable enough
to pay attention and relax.

Neglecting the screen, I move
to notice the new space
for your head. You bob
with each breath I subdue
like a confused puppy on its side.

I want you to hear my heart
alive in me, drumming along
aloud in my ears, burning
for attention with its eagerness
for your delicate attention.

I am nervous, wondering
if I am breathing too hard,
hoping you hear heartbeats
resounding through me.
I wait

until your breathing slows,
you collapse in a line,
dropping still from head to feet,
relaxing into me to sleep.
I stop watching your head
to find Ben Foster has left
the scene, ending the episode.