Did You Write about Me?
You broke a rule and it sounded like a twig snapped. You say you’ve forgotten that night when it rained and we could still see the stars, yet a smile flashes across your face when I tell you March 23rd, 2008. I suppose it was March 24th, by then, but you’ve forgotten the wet grass and how you put your cold hands down my warm pants. And if I paint you a slow picture, you remember but you can’t say if I cried before, or after, or what you thought. And your lip twitches. You should have that looked at.