"Tokyo Love Story"

What?
he asks me
as I push aside
the unopened package of
Virginia slims
he threw to me from
across the room.
I haven't
done that for years.
I muttered as I rose
and walked across the empty
room to join him.
He kissed me with
tobacco-flavoured lips,
and I smile
against them.
The band has been
playing in this city
for three days.
I miss the times we had
in busted-out live houses
with our second-hand costumes
and freshly-applied smiles.
Days when nothing mattered
but the sound of
the music in our ears.
He used to play
my piano for me
after our near-empty gigs
and I would handle
his guitar.
And then we'd
hold each other
late into the night
on the floor of his parent's
bath-room.
I miss the days of
open houses and open closets.
When nobody cared
who you are
but only how
can you play the music?
Not times like these
snuggled together in
the bed of a western-style hotel
after playing
for a sold-out arena.
He pretends to take
girlfriends, and I
pretend not to care.
On occasion I think
of dancing with him
to the music
of the indies visual era.
There was a time
when we laughed
together, too.
A time when it was
just the music and us.
Nobody remembers
after our tired shows
how he used to
grab and kiss me
on the stage
and under the spotlight.
Does anyone
remember a time
before their fame,
before hundreds
of demented teenagers
cried out to them;
a time
before that closed door.
I guess
if I really
really think about it
I don't miss it
that much.