scratched-out poems on diner napkins
for half the price of my lipstick stain on
a coffee mug & coldsores on the inside of
your cheek, there was too much fidelity &
not enough greek mythology for my taste

that lead me to you.
stumbling my way off the citybus, greyhound
hunting for the fox, it was past-tense in holland
but only six thirty a.m. on the corner street
after your apartment & before mine. somewhere
we were supposed to be, & whether that place
is actually where some were i did not know, for

the wind pushed you into a yellow taxicab &
i was left to lean off the horizon, stare at the sinking
moon like it was the last glimpse of the titanic &
pray that one of us knew how to swim, because i
was underwater, drowning when you came up for air.