Eric

I’m sorry, 

But how can I be honest 

When you’ve made me so rich 

By leaving forever? I think of you bald 

And feeling sexy, almost dead 

In Oaxaca, I think you knew 

You were being killed as it happened. 

What has it ever gotten us, 

Acting brave, half-cans of Estrella 

Lined up neatly in the recycling, 

Keeping work and sex separate, 

Letting people love their way around our lives 

Like we aren’t long gone. I must be missing you 

Sick like this over the lack of specifics, the zero-sum 

Game of gestalt, my refusal to wear the glasses 

I wanted so badly, how gross people loved you 

Better than I did. I’m thinking like a knife raised on bone, 

Spineless, with a secret second edge that only hurts as planned. 

I want to make being dead fun for you— 

I tell you like a joke to weak dates, 

I let you look when I’m changing, 

I drink until your hair grows on my chest, 

I stick around in case you miss anything good.