'Anyone sitting here?'

5 minutes ago
we were thrusting in the toilets.

Our clothes take the stance
of opposing forces. Our alibi.
Tongues become txts.
I always have credit when in character.

I would **** half the people here,  
friends and colleagues alike.
Beat them to death.
Cave in their heads with my fists,
stop when punching carpet —
just so the remaining half could see
how tender I would hold you.

Our eyes transfixed, unwilling
to focus on anything else —
the place cold be burning down
and all the love letters wouldn’t change the fact
that I can not read and you can not write.