I think back to
hot nights,
hot redlighted couples
kissing madly behind
back-hall-dance-floors
slurs of tongues melded together,
battling each other for oral supremacy
blink twice and
its raining outside
when you ask me to leave
say you’re tired of painkillers
and foreign pulses shaking the bed
i stand outside on your rusty green porch
hood up, joint sleeping in my fingers
and there isn’t much, i think, that separates
the concept of ‘i’ from the concrete reality
of ‘us’ and rain and everything
else that we assumed was irreconcilably different.