An Interrogation with Your New Lover
Did he mention that one day we’d braid ourselves
into an oblivion run by people on heroin with curly hair?
After you two watched the same movie, all hopped up
on butter and theater darkness.
Did he mention I enjoyed my yellow sneakers,
didn't give a shit the year everything went to shit
and he suffered from ambivalence? His mother
should call, let him know she missed him while
his head in your lap, resting as he talked.
Honestly, I know he mentioned the laundry,
the starchy pierce to the buds on your tongues.
Yeah, you’ve eaten nothing. It’s funny, right?
The way an action so small, shutting a door,
turning off lights, goes unmentioned.
Did he mention me? Sure, your understanding
of fine wine—bitter but with hints of chocolate
and oak. Sure, the swirling motion of glasses
and minds, wearing down with very little joy
by the hurricane of pink.
I’m sure he mentioned that brother’s suicide,
his laughter at the funeral, sitting in the back pew
with one of their mothers, or love. Did he tell you
about this tomorrow where it never rains?
No comments:
Post a Comment