I realised:
It is your blonde curl,
   The one that hangs over your eyes,
That makes my voice shudder.

I realised:
It is you,
   Not the sun,
That burns a white-hot hole
through my chest,
Clipped my wings
And let me crash.

It's already late
Still hours worth of work to do
I fear I won't sleep

and where he lives
his favorite color cobalt
blue, the bars he'd visited,
and the few women he went

there with. I know his breathing
when he sleeps is uneven and
the secrets that he keeps. Because
he talks in his sleep. I know

the musk he wears, and
that he hasn't underwear in his
bedroom drawers, just a bunch of
mismatched socks. I know the

pounds he can bench, his favorite
food, Indian. And who he voted for
president. I know his name. But today
as he walked by he didn't stop or say hi.