the two of you

i like to think of the two of you partying into oblivion on the same flatbush block where we walked around three stories up, in the heavens, in panties, in sunday morning heat. smoke drifting past the dramas playing on tv and all i knew how to do in this city was make pancakes. big stacks of them for the four of us. french press plunged, sitting on the cracked fridge shelf and roaches when we pulled out the trashcan. nights spent cackling on a steadily sinking couch, staining the white rug red. now we linger in a ring of three and the two of you hold tighter, moons of your fingernails pink-turned-white digging into my arm, or else fists swinging, teeth bared, tough rubber smiles, with all my bones showing when i tell you he no longer exists. we kiss tenderer each night when i leave. rough cheekskin kisses, clutching shoulders. i’m better now so i don’t have to sleep on your sofa when the party’s over, don’t have to listen hard to hear your easy breathing in the other room while i watch the curtains float toward the place where i lay alone.

i thought then that i would die crushing. from far away now i like to think of the two of you dancing circles into eternity with your paper party hats and streamers hung lame from the ceiling, rustling just a little in your wake. a trip to the dollar store for a night of fun. it’s always dusk and darkening. i like to think of the two of you when i’m layed out flat on the concrete, heels to the curb, waiting for the bus in the dead of night on ocean avenue and someone bends over me, says are you ok. someone says can i ask you a serious question. someone says voice crackling from 2,000 miles away why did you leave and then from 1,999 did you really mean what you said. yes my softness and yes my hardness are filled with secret shards of light that catch today in the tequila bottle i bought for its blue, the one i won’t bring to the party, keep to myself