You’ve mapped me with your mouth and breath –
the topography always new when you put your tongue to work
it makes us and it breaks us
Bones ache from inattention, but you know when I need reopening.
You always call after liquor; I try to get on the other side of you (not bodily).
When I am alone, I am always here. You are always there.
I should remember this.
I should return a reminder to myself
(rubber pops against my skin, spare in its thickness)
We see the same sunset – late, hot and pink like our mouths –
we drink from the same bottle, share the same un-control of all this.
Cigarette wrists dangle and dance at your hips –
hips I have held while I’ve had you in my mouth.
I choose the light.
I control the heat.
I turn the dials.
You are always on and I am always just here –
a matted frond flailing in the lambent light of our last goodbye.