October

Every rigid line, every shimmering crease in a foul double bed

and the aches in the muscles of our legs when the sun rises

like your round, golden hands in a classroom scorching with light

when you say perfect words you’re too stupid to know

The way you say “good-night” and that’s it--

Two words, maybe one 

(something you could say in a breath)

And we dreamed in our locked-up skulls,

looking out for the narcoleptic Freud on the other side

who pervaded our subconsciouses with images of each other

A nervous old man with spectacles and a crooked laugh,

who made note of the orange-scented empty weight of our stolen glances

And the plane made it to the holy land with too much turbulence,

The way the seasons changed that year,

a humid summer melted our faces, then morphed

into a chilling fall with an interlude of soppy rain

But we made it and we clutched the rocks in our hot palms

and looked around, so afraid of people seeing our bones,

So afraid the natives would see us counting our demons on our fingers,

Shifting to the side when we got in each other’s way

and Michael told me he was the most alone person in the universe