—I’D BE LYING IF I SAID IF I KNEW THE WAY

 

 

patina

 

whatever did we do

with that couch,

the one we broke in

by making love atop

the cushions doubled-up

for leverage and depth,

the couch that heard

our confession,

that plundered us with

corkscrew monogamy?

all those times we sat or lay there

shedding hormones and

sweat, semen and moans,

surrendering our souls so easily.

all that we left in the slits,

coins of course, tokens,

receipts and randy love notes.

yes, I’m referring to that same couch,

the one with the gold patina

where you called me a thief, a bastard,

and I did you worse,

breaching everything in sight,

even that which was thought

to be unbreakable.

I’m left with a parade

of questions, aren’t I?

like whatever did we do

to deserve each other, to own

such a fine piece of furniture,

one that held up everything

so readily, like a prop

or trusted brace,

like a friend who has

all the answers except for

how to get back home?