It’s 2:30 am, the time
I’m supposed to forget,
when we open our legs
for gruff solace. Romance
took a hike two hours ago
and I want what’s wrong—
uncouple the body from love,
sweet fuck, I want you
on display, or with another man.
I want you meaningless.
What happens when I hold on
too long—lost in anxiety,
my escape, this idea of sex. So
I call you instead, wanting
a way out. Better to listen
to the phone ring, keep me
focused. Maybe if I told you,
if we talked it through,
cut me down…
Sometimes our kisses keep
their old meaning—I remember
how to love, or how I might.
Six more hours until church.
Do you believe in divine
intervention? I believe
in losing phone numbers,
memories, old dreams.
I don’t want you
to pick up, I don’t
want to want at all.
