Remain

we were drinking beer, the image of
which resists my re-inventions when
my camera has been replaced
with a pen

the wine might have come later, for me,
but, then, we took turns pretending
to be grown up

breaking hearts is a game
leaving is a game, just as simple as
a choreographed move - you turn,
walk away. but i am lying, for
that is not the moment that
i captured.

instead, you are looking
away first, eyes captivated
by the vermillion of her
need. the beer is still popping
on my tongue, but words are
becoming distant, leaving
my mouth inches away
from my pursed lips.

what is left behind is the heat
of bodies, not
the clarity of thought

this is true of the moment we
get up to leave, a classroom, perhaps
or those heavy gates, set
to keep out sighs, desire, lack

i turned away first. your letters,
they lie unanswered. we hugged, and
you walked through the turnstile.
i walked away.