in twos, or threes, he’ll break his
own heart; he will not want a kiss
or eighty texts of i love you. he
breathes hard like he is dying, when
the fire is just fluorescent.
remember when, he asks, do you
know how it feels? he talks of last
spring like it was only yesterday.
the edges of his vision are tainted
white and cold. remember when,
he asks.
he is orpheus, feet buried by the
ocean. everything you have said
he has forgotten.