Bones ache from inattention, but you know when I need reopening.

You always call after liquor; I try to get on the other side of you (not bodily).

When I am alone, I am always here. You are always there.

I should remember this.

I should return a reminder to myself

(rubber pops against my skin, spare in its thickness)

We see the same sunset — late, hot and pink like our mouths -

we drink from the same bottle, share the same un-control of all this.

Cigarette wrists dangle and dance at your hips -

hips I have held while I’ve had you in my mouth.

I choose the light.

I control the heat.

I turn the dials.

You are always on and I am always just here -

a matted frond flailing in the lambent light of our last goodbye.