Just for Tonight, Walking Home in Rain

We’ll begin at the end —
move backwards toward the flickering light
that catches our skin like a spark.
I’ll call all men sweethearts
as their slim suits speed towards me through time.

I’ll wear furs and smoke long cigarettes
and you’ll snap your thin suspenders
when you’re pleased with yourself,
swing your coat over your left shoulder
like a baseball bat.

I’ll speak from an octave lower in my throat,
sing a bluesy note from time to time,
kiss the air around your head
as if everything about you
is a soft place to land.

You’ll be tough and unwavering —
like the shadow of a stone,

but no matter the bind it puts you in,
it won’t take long for you to turn
towards my legs as if
they were long strands of rope.

Just for tonight,
we won’t care who done it,
or wonder how we’ve arrived

at the edge of the pool,
looking down at the body
floating as bodies do in old movies,
or wonder which of us did this,
or which of us is already dead.