as if he could give
you what remains
of daylight. Shadow kisses 

across your cold cheek. Relief
from rush hour chaos—a simple word breaking 

off your mouth. Energy
from ten cups of black coffee, ten cans of Red 

Bull not needed here. As if
this recognition could be
on your face.

Sworn In On Out

She never takes room—a spillover
lover from his last book
of bed times 

and sleeping porches
in a town so much 

warmer than here. Where
he would say fuck out
loud, she would be a collapsed 

chorus of giggles:
Who is this
who makes me fall  

down so easily into
spasms without withdrawal,
not even from a drop 

of espresso
that woman splattered 

on her way out the door? But
he sings it instead, and that
just makes her stand steady for more.