the first lines of poems I haven’t committed to
we laid at the mouth of an alley and prayed for poems like our ancestors prayed for rain. we yelled metaphors that weren’t ours into someones open kitchen window, we picked a wild bouquet of chicago flowers, we wore vests, we forgot to eat, we drank sugar with coffee in it from a mousetrap mexican diner where the men called us pretty and we called ourselves “he.”
everything gets sad if you think about it for too long.
when we were apart.
you cowardly, squeamish, irreversible stain. I wish you’d never left me, but I know I’d have never stayed.
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