Skin Tight Blue Jeans

Red mascara on night lips and the parting of ways
Songs only nightingales sing in a bar on the other side of town
smoke brown teeth and hair wet with disappointment
clinging like teen girls in catherine wheel romances
a burning, singular dance
rubbed into an ashtray littered with regret
seeping into the dark alleys
where sunlight does not touch
a warm mattress in a cool room
filtered dirty brown coffee
from last night's rendezvous with -
not the void
we made secret plans but they crumble when morning comes
the party is over and everyone leaves
and you clear the mess in the kitchen sink
and the room where they played the game with the red party hats
and find a coin under the seat where no one sat
that your niece gave you for -
not your birthday
and I'm etched like people holding
hands made of paper that unfold
accordion running in the background making
slow and mournful sounds
did someone die?
Yes. But I wasn't there at your funeral
or your wedding
or when your dog died
we almost met the other day and you were going to tell me -
but we were both at the wrong place
and I keep thinking now is the right time to tell you -
tomorrow would be a good place to meet
but it is always closed so hello I hope you're ok
in a message I didn't send but thought about once
in a dream I woke up to