Beau smokes a cigarette
i.
The moon is
a white wick
from last night
burned into
so many vermillion
horoscopes

and the stars
tell me to fall
in love, deeply

while watching you
suck the white stick
of a cigarette, watch
the ball
burn between tongue
and teeth

watch the sunrise,
say hi,
pass each other by.

ii. Version of Beau (one)
Beau mock-fucks the side of the table.

His ass curves,
slides into a perfectly placed
thrust, hands move into
spheres,

I count
his weight
as though he were
touching me,

against,
against,
against,

I look away,

don't watch the rest.

iii. Version of Beau (two)
I look into your eyes
when you speak to me,

not out of devotion
just because I know

he notices. Converse
without verse. I am

not a poet with him,
though he jokes

about how much he
loves me. I leave it be

tell myself I will not
fall into worship with you

but I will smile
and listen intently

while you mistakenly
call other girls my name.