The Way We Speak

If we still had our watches,
they would be set to the time of Us,
I'd never move that time forward.
When we both wore gaudy digital watches
so that we wouldn't have to waste time
telling hands apart; didn't have to waste time
time was our best friend--is our best friend.

What about the things we don't talk about?

The other day I felt bloated and remembered
how our periods would start at the same time
and we would lay on my bed and laugh hysterically
because we knew neither of us would get pregnant
from what we were doing.

What were we doing?

Showing up at your front door simply because
and you were waiting in your car--window rolled down
"Whatcha doin' over there? Get in."
Tried to make it to the beach, ran out of gas in Richmond
your little egg shaped car tried;
and we piled into the back seat until it was safe
to call your brother who hated me anyway
didn't matter, we got home somehow

Where should we be right now?

I shouldn't have been so definitive with you
that was never what we were about: boundaries
definitions, expectations, straight lines,
being able to explain ourselves and our feelings.
I should've given you thirty four more chances
because you wanted to explain why your final answer was no
I know, I know--but I was tired of the back and forth
I just wanted to have fun with you again.

When did our changes take place?

You perform so well for his family,
I changed my personality for him.
You love him now. I loved him then.
When we were with other people
we couldn't even speak--there was still
there was a remainder
there were signs of sin--
but kudos for your performances,
and pretending to be quaint.

Do you think any of this really matters?

We don't even speak of the Shift
laying across the couch, legs intertwined
twenty-two years old and twenty-one
you're so high you don't realize your hand
is on my ankle and I'm so time-warped
I don't realize anything is out of place.
"Does the sun ever set on our empire?"
your question is stunningly simple
breathy, realistic, but heart breaking
& you sit up in a hurry with machine gun apologies.
No need, "Of course the sun don't set. Shit."
At ease, friend... just cool it.

Do you just want to lay down and take a nap?

Woke up together like old times on that old couch
stuffed with old memories replayed, replayed
each one smelling like a thrift store;
new to us right now, but we've owned this before.
The doors on the deck point toward the sunrise
and you've been awake for hours just measuring
yourself and me and how we never quite fit
our hands just fall places and we never used to pretend
not to know, it used to just be okay;

Do I remember what you said?

"You'll visit my grave, right?
you HAVE to visit my grave."
On a trip to the mountain with a tent
a case of beer, cheap marijuana, your bb gun,
and enough fireworks to leave us sans eye brows,
bare feet hanging out your passengers window,
your arm propped up on the back of my seat,
I couldn't see you through my hair whipping across
my face, blinding me at a moment when I should've looked
right
at
you
the one and only time I felt the flavoring of permanence with you,

But do you remember what I said?

"You're never going to die."
You laughed that stupid fucking laugh
pushed my head away and kept laughing
but when we were putting up the tent
and smoking & you stopped and commented on the smell
of the forest and casually told me it was good
that we'd never die and that we'd never die together
of course we kissed between swigs of natty light
god i loved you then

So you want to know if I remember?

Of course I remember,
claro que si.
You were in Spain, telling me about fiery festivals
lasting entire lifetimes, "You should be here."
Yes, I should've been there.
No, the sun don't set.
And if you keep smiling at me like that when you come inside,
we're going to keep doing this
and you told me you learned your lesson about saying no
but I wasn't trying to teach you
so this must be as legitimate as you and I can get
we're kind of flying free now, aren't we?
Five years in the making.