When you asked me how I had done it
I stared at you blankly.
Were you trying to be funny,
somehow stuffing your face right in front
of mine and his at the same time?
I don't know how you even managed that
from halfway across the room,
but my skin was instantly
and irreversibly crimson,
as if you had just slapped me,
or if the faces of our friends
who were now choking on the laughter in their throats
had the visages of six suns
somehow packed into one dingy college dorm room.
Of course, they couldn't have been suns,
or else the whole **** building would have caught on fire
between the beer soaked beds and butane lighters
and desk drawers crammed with cannabis.
In one blunt
sentence, you managed
to push me outside in the cold
with just the burning coals of my flesh
and my fists clenched, ready to challenge you
to a fight that only I could win.
I could not help being angry -
anyone would be with such a mirror
placed so closely to them, my ego
crisply clarified, sharply dissected.
Finally, you let me back in,
feeling sorry for my cold fingers
and my colder heart.
For the record, I let you back in too,
since we'll both mess up again,
probably.