when i realized i’d never forgive you
when i saw the trumpeter blow the horn, my jericho heart came down, moved from flesh to fluid.
it wasn’t your hand i held, we hadn’t spoken in months, but i’ll admit that part of me pretended you were him, not that you’d know. tendons
flexed as he played the brass, my breath catching as i tried to keep from crying.
how long will it take to forget your hands curling around a bottled neck, ungraciously swigging glass to your lips. you aren’t
graceful, but still i’d rather it be your arms touching mine when the lonesome lows carried us home.