ONE-NIGHT STANDS

Those men I fucked when I was drunk,

I can’t even see their faces anymore.

Or the shape of their hands, hard

bones of their hips knocking against me,

curve of an ass or shoulder. Whatever

I tasted as they slid over me, nameless,

whatever words they tongued into me,

I don’t have them. What I have

are the bars I met them in, the sweat

on a glass of beer, the dense granules of red

or blue light sifting toward me, sharp swell

of music and a voice saying Let’s get out

of here. We always went to a place

I’d never be able to find again

if I ever bothered to look.

There are people we’re meant

to lose, moments that rinse off.

And there are still nights I lie awake

with the pulse, the throb,

that says Let’s go

somewhere and watch the moon rise

over three rows of bottles and a cash register.

Let someone else pay. Ask for a cigarette

and the fire to light it, burn a few hours,

show me you love me that much.