abecedarian of things
i forgot to say

Anyway, it’s getting late and the
buses aren’t running, so I’ll need to walk.
Call me, even though I’ll let it ring and won’t
drop you a line, even if I really want to, and
even if you know it. I haven’t seen you
for ages and I want to go home. Instead, I’m
going crazy, cheeks florid in the wind,
hair knotted around my lapel pins and
I’m not even embarrassed by it. Or maybe
just a little. I can see you now, you beauty, your
knuckles pretty and pink in the cold while I
leap over uncreased curbside puddles to you.
My slate shadow abandons me in this dream,
nauseated by my heedlessness. Though I’m
only suggesting it. Last Sunday, I started
praying again, because you believed—not
quite right; I was the believer, but that’s a
repulsive thought. I have long lost the
satire of your tired drama, and you forget
too much that you don’t deserve to. And
understand, it’s not because I miss the blue
varnished sky or the way you never let go first.
Why, I, too, am fearless: burning my lips on hot
xian cao as the world moves on around me. For
you it was water on a duck’s back. I have
zero, you hear? Zero regrets.