In the Audience with Eyes Closed

Speaking in captions, she drinks
nostalgia from a red rock 

glass. It tastes almost
sour—sweet kicked in 

the jaw with a steel
toed boot firmly encasing 

the foot of a man
she used to know. In biblical stories, 

the knowing
would be absolute. Once two 

bodies collide and become
affixed—nothing 

with two hands can pull 

apart the memory of their imprints. 

But outside official belief, she lays with grace
in a black striped shirt. Forgotten 

or not, she won’t get
drunk from a cocktail tonight.

Exposure Closure

To cash in
a past, pick
a year—1992,
better yet 1991— 

would be too easy.
I’m done being
easy. Narratives
wrap around words 

compressed. A loose loop 

of letters with clear beginning,
middle, 

end would be a legible expose
yourself delivery
method. But 

it’s what gets packed in
so tightly—one lover’s lip
smashed against another’s ear.
Turns out, boys tell secrets too.