this is the part where I tell you that
on our first date, he set his table with candles to make it romantic and I thought it was,
but no. he tried
I knocked them into his flooding sink
I knew he hated romantics, and I wasn’t one.
he tried to hide it, but I saw his burned thumb

this is the part where I tell you
we played each other love songs and sang sugar pumpkin words
but we played on out-of-tune pianos in the practice rooms,
the ones with dusty white linoleum floors
because the cleaning lady was too lazy to walk up to the 6th floor every day;
the elevator was broken
broken love songs that neither of us would admit we meant.
maybe we didn’t know it ourselves
the wrong notes we hit were somehow grossly harmonic.

this is the part where I tell you that
he talked business and marketing with my father,
he made my mother laugh at ****** knock-knock jokes
he played catch with my little brother,
but he'd never do any of that.
he thought my mom was vain and my siblings were devil incarnations.

this is the part where I tell you
his handwriting was often indecipherable and I was the only who could read it,
but life’s not excessively beautiful
I hated his handwriting. I could never read it.
The n’s looked like h’s
and the a’s looked like o’s

this is the part where I tell you
he brought roses to my door just because it was Tuesday,
he snuck chocolates into my backpack
but he didn’t believe in gift-giving.

only one time, he showed up looking confused and
shameful,
he was holding a little toy train set
I'd played with them as a kid.
then, surprise! The box was filled with his sister's old Barbies
only half-dressed
like the ones I used to try and flush down the toilet,
I knew what he was trying to say
and slapped him upside the head,
*I love you too.

you asked what I thought of you
point-blank, blunt
Bewildered, I examined the birthmark on your arm
scuffed sneakers and your eyes
the new old ones I liked: you had gotten rid of the colored contacts two months ago,
day we met.
mouth open, I searched for a word and was astounded at the difficulty
smiling and I closed my lips, you seemed confused
I took your hand as the subway doors opened and dragged you into the city
we ran up the stairs, his hand was warm like the cigarette night air
I’ll show him what I think of him, we ate burgers on the street corner;
he spilled mayo down his shirt and we threw lettuce and laughter at each other.

she’s so tired,
she’s so in love,
and she’ll stay up all night because he promised
– pinky
her a
midnight call
which she’d always thought was romantic.

she keeps awake with cherry Coke cans stacked on the nightstand,
lying on the bed making origami out of green paper
something she’d learned in 4th grade,

but her phone is losing battery from constant checking
it’s 8 minutes to three,
no matter how many paper swans she folds,

I don’t think he’s calling.

flit over piano
keys, spin out something just for me, newly invented,
never spoken before
Not for me, but I will pretend as much
just so myself will be
satisfied, Play and watch me breathe and hitch
I will sit listless and listening as you
unknowingly
break me and make me with each slight motion of your wrists
a sickening, Lovely rhythm that I cannot close my ears to,
because you are too beautiful and so I am
drawn,
victim of lawless Delusions of love.

I believe in memories
they smell vanilla on our tongues and the insides of our cheeks
at first, crazy good sureness
but the aftertaste is poison.

sweet poison,
sharp and real like
paper flowers
in a stunning silver vase on the mantle:

what I remember
doesn’t do justice to what we used to know.

kiss her –
so sickly sweet that
the moon, wan wasteland
falls off your shoulders
(like I thought it did with me),
and you sleep in morose idiocy
as it continues to
roll across the table and knock over the
candles and wine glasses you’d set up
so hurriedly.
spill burn shatter.