When I Touched Those Three Men



I remember it like sandpaper kisses.
A cat’s tongue,
nothing about it felt good
and yet
we kept going,
too afraid of admitting
the only thing we did more than fuck
was mistake
for love.


You bring me to a baseball game for our first date,
and I give you a hard time
because you know I hate sports
don’t understand them,
cheer at the wrong time.
You anticipate fireworks,
blues and reds lighting up the stadium.
but I’m ready to go home
until we pull up to my house
and we linger by my car,
you kiss me
something we’ve flirted around
since we were 15,
now we are here
in college and home
for summer
and it’s fireworks
as if it’s always been you.


We read each other poetry in bed
you ask who hurt me the most
I say,
“I’m not sure”
So we pull the sheets over our heads and kiss
in Neruda
touch with Bukowski.
Months later,
I drive past your apartment
look at the faded window I once gazed out
and find my answer.

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