She asked how much I paid for roku. Nightmares are like long planes rides, she said and rolled her eyes. Even death gets overdone. There wasn't much laughter in general, but we exchanged particularly placed knowing glances smearing us together in a moment of pressing play on Breathless, Mulan, Ancient Aliens. We switched socks, traded bubblegum, her arms were grey. Asleep on my shoulder, I tucked spaghetti string brown hair behind her ear oil was leaking, oil -- where the scalp should flake—She turned her head, whispering slowly with a smile made of parsley dipped in salt water, There’s no longing in restful wake