the winter we met, the rum kept us warm
while we waded in your shag carpet.
ashtray boats capsized and jettisoned
their flaky cargo into the pea-green water.
your white briefs slid across
the frictionless mahogany.
gripping skin and veneer we held on
through the spasms of the turntable
and made new rhythms, irregular
when sampled, intricate and magnificent
when the measures are strung together.

but the cold made our noses run
into our sloppy kisses, and the string
of mornings after were yellowed
by our collection of canker sores,
leaking ennui in the coffee.
i was just a little boy, my duct tape’s
makeshift hold could not keep us together
so we took our final hits and
fucked one last time amid the debris
so our irregularly shaped photos
would not fit in the albums
or be remembered in anything
but ineffective words and carpet stains.