Remember when you used to listen to music?
I don't either. You said you were coming to visit.
I didn't touch myself for three days
to heighten the sight of you.
To tune my nostrils to what the scent of the
backs of your ears might be like
elbow to elbow at the bar
after so many year
could have beens. Just maybe
what you wanted was nothing a boy had to offer
two years sweating getting over
"good enough" fail.
Pretend. Call. Saddled and run to ground regardless.
Pretend. Call. Call to call off.
If I said "yes," you would not have come;
gone home with the comfort of knowing
I would.
Thieves. I tried. Wake clothed, apples in pockets
mid afternoon. Remember advice given solicited
before work set its tooth
ready to go against reason and ration
for you. A long day
waiting.
The second day, emptied ash trays.
Remember when you listened to music?
Instead of drowning out.
To heighten the sight of you.
To tune my nostrils to what the scent of the
backs of your ears smell like now and
quaff. Full and deep.
Shift the location,
the ash tray for the glass.
Convince the self he did not want to use
you. To get off. Shift
backward. Follow through.
Lights out on the eve.
My head in your lap.
Would it have killed you to kiss me.
