You can’t hide behind fake glasses
anymore than I can pretend we’re strangers
It’s an inner-alarm.
It’ someone on your arm.
It’s a waving, clenched fist shouting,
“first do no harm.”
It’s the very last kiss.
It’s the very first fuck.
It’s some awful tattoos and the sound of giving
up on you to come over…
On you to get over that night out on West Franklin,
when I hoped I’d never see you again.