We skate
as we smoke
to bruise ourselves,
as we look for photographs
of people long gone,
as we dial old and forbidden
telephone numbers.

To sigh
and choke
and despair
and know we belong
to the painful beauty
of the world.

The sun sets
over the tiger cages
of our childhood.

My brother
counts his teeth
and talks
about the girl
we were both
in love with.

He barely remembers her,
as an old scent
or melody
heard only once.