by Koss
- Lit up each time you flashed your heart-shaped mouth and skein of largish teeth, your skin was so creamy and your boyish jaw curved like another smile, or echo
- Tried to understand your streaming red and yellow environmental fabric art the university grounds crew ripped from the trees—I understood their meanness
- Impressed you made ten bucks an hour delivering pizza from your cream Honda (that was a lot of money then)
- Didn’t stare at your mangled arm, eaten by the misplaced mailbox, but I wanted to and always imagined how it must have hurt
- Still share your stories: Vermont, your rustic lesbian moms, the commune school where you all streaked on parents day . . . You were so different from me . . .
- Loved your tangled black hair that looked so weird on occasion when you combed it
- No one had your swagger—ass-in, pelvis first, like you were packing in those badass motorcycle boots paired with a Navajo-striped woven coat
- Didn’t have sex with you when you were trashed and felt me up at the party You were with the coke dealer then who told everyone he was hung
- Didn’t have sex with you when your roommates instigated an orgy (you drove me home)
- Didn’t have sex with you when you dropped your clothes to the cement and dove into the pool after we broke into the Arbor Hills Club
- Didn’t have sex with you when I held you and you were so drunk your eyes closed as you stroked my cheek—we fell asleep, you in my arms
- I was waiting for the right sober moment, and then all the moments passed, but do know this was respect and with the deepest regret
- What I’d do to you if you were still here