Sleeping Over

Me and June aren’t moving around as much. When we do, the plastic slipcover protecting the couch cracks and pops like a bonfire. June was too scared her mom would notice dirt on the furniture to take it off before we sat down. She tilts her neck to the right, offers the hollow part of her shoulder, and I kiss her the way men kiss women in the movies, up the neck to her earlobe. She has the special kind that is disconnected from her head, like mine. Her breath is slow and focused as if she’s blowing out a candle. There’s a heat to it. It feels good knowing I can make someone breathe that way.