To All The Women I Ever Ghosted

for Elizabeth, 2019

Like handshakes at evening, we met

waiting for the clock to fall
fast asleep or else ignore us. Those old seducers, 

they played the concert of the untouched 

instruments and without the usual 

electric wiring of tedious nerves. God bless

the water that sports over the pot, 

the boiling as it escapes 

the water, and any flavor that remains 

in the air. We flourished

in a dream for a dynasty. Honey-colored 

sweet talk on the subject

of a tongue’s impossible exhortations

and our eye’s ever-widening circle. 

He wishes he could gorgeous up 

an old flame. Wishes a severe convalescence,

to lay his head down on the chest of some fever. 

She wants to belt 

a new dress of smoke, hammer a proper eureka 

over the headboard or blueprint 

the world’s first infinity mirror. They never ask 

about this totem’s meaning 

or that totem’s meaning. No inducement 

would work. What dilemma? What aggression? 

No future emerges with a force 

worth compromising over, and we listen
and can’t help but grieve-and-smile
at the lengths either of us have gone
to make opportunities in others. 

But love permits like commercial real estate
develops and any movement
that takes shape before the end is only just
the story of the end. Because
our skyline didn't receive us, maybe this phase
requires more distance and these heights

will make a proper backdrop in time.