vetted

there is one man with a wicked face, perfect and stoney
and one lost man, fighting like a dictionary.

there is one man who forgot all his sloppy promises
and one man who hates his desire for me, but has never let it go.

another man was there at midnight, scared of his own shadow in the dark
and another man made of story upon story, lips tasting like cyanide laced with ecstacy.

there is one man who is brutal and disappointed, worrying he’ll forget his own secrets
and one man who goes tripping backward over intimacy.

there is one irish man feigning sleep, but watching me topless at the window
and one man whose memory sounds like wished for moans and meaning.

and, then there’s you, wolfish by the San Fran pool, god forgive me for being a coward…I should have kept you for myself.