The party finished and I am alone with words. Locked myself in the supply closet and then decided to not cry. Attitude I scolded myself. The champagne on an unfed stomach tells my heart it's broken, not the fact that a year ago today you put your arm around me, drew me in close with sunlight and allowed me to shake and shiver as I told you my sadder secrets.
That day ended horribly for me. You think of it fondly later, but all I remember is twilight and things getting ugly between my legs while a bum watched us begin to make love in dark trees. We could have gotten mugged naked as we lusted after different things. Coming and then you wanted to go home alone and I was too skilled at being flippant about a man touching me so I toughly shrugged it off and said to friends afterwards oh I broke all the sodomy laws in Central Park.
I was a liar then as I am now thinking fuck attitude. I should have cried in the supply closet.
There is no hope. Just this poem.