323/365

there’s a shitty old fashion
on the table and worse chips and salsa.
we’re drunk and sweaty
reminiscing about the shows we  
saw in ninety ninety two.
we want to be sexy, young and relevant,
no one noticed us in our prime
and now it’s even worse.

i play taylor swift on the cab ride home,
making more sense at forty eight
then at eighteen. you bought me cool water
and that gap sweater, trying to change me into
who you wanted me to be. we explored our bodies
in the back of my car behind santa vencia
and china camp. i wanted to love you how you wanted, but
i broke you in ways i couldn’t recognise until
your sister told richard years later. boys are sharp knives
no one can wield properly. your green eyes piercing me still.

afternoons at the ice cream shop when we
melted into each other. flittering smiles more pure
than love we’d ever know. i cried your name for years
in lonely drunken dorm rooms. wanting to say i’m sorry-
remember that day at samual p taylor park. you a sacrifice.
me a hungry devouring force. i see your grandchildren
and hope you made it into the clear where you see me
the way i always wanted to be seen.

enamoured by you.
needing to be loved.