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the minor movements, the sting of

cheap gin and tonic, a stolen spot on the couch,

the whirls of smoke, getting better

strangers than friends, and the moment,

lighting a fifth cigarette with the end

of a fourth, when you walked around me to

the truck I love, laughing with a boy I know

you don’t, and it all stumbled over — ”bye,

fuck off!” and in my memory, it was us, it was

that couch, it was your house, and now I’m

just drunk and destructed and I wish

I wished I could grasp it all back.

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