Think of the tender things that we were working on.

And goes

and goes

and goes

and goes

The dog watched me, unblinking, while I ate.

She looked so serious. Her head tracked my hand as it went from plate to mouth and back again.

And when I’d swallowed the last of it and licked my fingers clean,

she sighed, put her head down, and went right to sleep.

If only we could all observe the things we want so intently with such plain, open longing.

Across town, we’re at Bugsy’s Bar. I had a miserable afternoon, but you're here now, and you know nothing about it. You look at me like you want to hold me with both hands. Like I'm something delicate that might fly away.

In the parking garage of Treasure Island, you squeeze my fingers because they’re cold, and no one could fault you for that. I touch the ends of hair that now reach the back of your neck. You're growing it long. Another version of you I am grateful to meet.

By the entrance to The Mirage, I am on display, wearing thigh high boots and leaning into your passenger side window. Maybe a stranger thinks we're negotiating what a night with me would cost you. We are.

As I write this, I am in Colorado, you are in North Carolina, and we are in Nevada. Vignettes of our past and would-be selves populate that ridiculous city. That city of mirrors. That city for hiding, and sometimes for seeking.

When you’re ready, darling, let’s find ourselves again.

you under turquoise neon, you standing still in a crowd, you, with a dove and an ox, waiting for me to appear.

you in the driver’s seat, me expected to be somewhere. me sliding one finger into the crease at your hip. you gently removing my hand, you gently removing it again.

me in thigh high boots, me leaning into your car window, me on display.

you as a revelation, you as pure fantasy, you, surrounded in gold.

me as a crossroads, me with a yoke,