That look: our eyes snap together with, I imagine,
the same sound your denim jacket makes when you
button it up each morning. The horns of an independent
label band bray from the café speakers; trumpets
underscore the dialogue we’re about to start.

Later the relieved reverberation of clothing
hitting floor. "Finally, finally," my carpet says
to our discarded briefs (mine faded blue,
yours unbroken white), "I’ve been waiting."
I give you a reason to remove your hand
from that doorknob so eager for its heat.
Flesh yields so much better than brass can.

Nights that only I remember: your tequila breath
wreathes my head, above that a confused flush
on your face. Dueling until dawn, then nutmeg
musk and sweat of making up again tomorrow.

I remember so well I forget what's in front of me.
The migration of dishes to the sink tells me
I still eat. The silence of the phone declares all my bills
must already be paid.