black lamb

Its first iteration"Boston Common" published in Mister Zine.

I remember bumping into you every where      Our knees and thighs touching: we didn't
move. Lent me your jacket so I walked in the rain with you                        /                        the
blue bike that October night and the kiss in the kitchen (the people in the other room listening)
                        /                        My fingers slick with brine from the oysters and wine on an
afternoon I was already late to retreat for.

Last May I had asked you what it is,                                        about me, half asleep, you said:
something so sincere I couldn't believe you.

Perhaps you understood the person I wanted to be after all / perhaps no knew me besides
you— I felt secret. I felt alive in my desire to lose myself in drink,                      in spit and sex,
           in bodies,                        all in one,                        these blurs.                        My gaps of memory.

For everything I remember, I catch myself — for I never intended to and this I regret.
But mostly I forget. I forget too. I forget.

I keep talking to you in my head                        /                        I keep wondering if you're going to
reply to a text I haven't even sent                     /                         When I prayed to God he told me
there would be no end to this conversation