Yeah, we used to light matches.

We thought about burning these buildings down but instead
Smoked our cigarettes or the occasional
Cigar.

When we had something to celebrate.
When we made it though the week alive or at least
Breathing and drinking and swearing a little less.

You pulled me into the bathroom to tell me you thought
We should get out of here tonight and
Tomorrow night and all the nights after.
You smelled like cheap beer and even cheaper plastic.

I thought about how, thus far, we’d skated by without
Getting cancer.  Without a fist fight, or a DUI or
Even a close encounter with the law.

This was not a Western.  We were not rebels.
We were scared and lost and trying so hard not to act like
Spoiled rich kids.

You pulled me into the bathroom.
Maybe you meant it but
You smelled like cheap beer and a little something extra.

I imagine in another life we are sitting together at a bar,
In the city,

You are holding my hand under the table, tracing
All of those scars on palms meant
For bigger and better than this.