musée

another night of youth
wasted. 
on the walk from the bars we kicked rocks and whined aloud 
at the fickleness of our latest crushes. stewing over the injustice of it all. 
my porchlight was tucked into the alley you'd continue down;
we'd reach it in a few more dark jokes,
wave, smile, 
shout good wishes to the sound of my turning key.

i don't know who said something first; 
i don't know if we said anything at all.
only that suddenly there was the flavor of your grin
the rough of five o'clock shadow pushing three am.
it was all so luxuriously simple, 
so naturally unfussy - 
we'd loved others before 
we'd love again but for now 
we were sticking middle fingers up and tongues out to Big Lonely.
fingertips swirling conspiratorially across thighs,
lips playing house against collarbones;
the assuaging breaths between bouts 
hanging from the corners of the room, our canopy of relief.
there was the smallest sense of wrong in how right we blended, 
stunning how we dissolved one another into puddles then giggles -
a spice i relished as i fancied myself recklessly daring.

i wasn't of course. 
falsely audacious about everything, 
i bet safe; i bet you.
because in even the smallest of things, you treasure - that's what i'd love about you
for years to come
as we each went about our lives, the easiest semisecret i've ever kept
(it was too fun to watch our friends' jaws drop, who could resist)

all of it 
faded 
so far into the distance now 
nothing but depth patinaed into dark joke filled reunions.