Awaiting wakened words to weep, I find
my cheery voice will speak of suckitash
and other sense, non, recumpense, let’s dance
take off our hands all obligated cash
transactions, work and play, now pay for drinks.
we “pay” for ***, go out on dates, remind,
each other of our names, then fly to France
forget how one another speaks and sinks

into a stew. I add your mother’s salt,
all of it, for the hell of it, with poise
and grace, and the memory of your face.
we make our own breaks, and foot faults, put faults
on others, you always loved tennis and boys
we both said “I love” – having parted ways.