I listen to couples make
comfortable word-work
with slurs slurred and
gawking at glazed windows
filled with the feeling of
forever empty—forever
falling into the pit of
“perhaps this can be real
enough” for me and my
lover and this child and
for that great long while,
left looming under dusted
streetlights. If only for a
short long while, can it really
truly be, just you and me.