Last time I saw you we drank pink champagne,
and agreed about politics.
The neighbors put on Spanish music
and we left to get some coke.
We put our hoods up and hid our faces,
I was under dressed and you didn’t give me your coat.
I saw a girl on the corner with white skin
and a wool dress and we locked eyes,
and I thought I loved her.
I used to leave sometimes when it got too loud
and walk and walk
and unlock the car and dare myself.
I remember we went to a bar one night,
and I was pretty and drank cosmos,
and wore heals and you left.
I’d put the radio on and turn the volume up,
and listen to the evangelists and get saved,
and fall asleep.
Sometimes you would be sober
and you would love me,
and I would get mad.
I would look up at the sky
and try to see the stars,
but the buildings were too bright,
so I would look down and see the sidewalk sparkle.
The firetrucks would wake us up at night
and I would sleep in the living room
without a pillow,
and drink diet coke and brandy,
and read old newspapers,
and wish I could see the stars.