First touch, zero, our thumbs

Bump. I feel like a five-year-old

Child being led across the road

By his dittering maid. I unlace

My digits, properly

Putting them in their right

Ridges. That’s what boyfriends

Do right? I’ve missed this act –

I used to be able to talk

To you freely but it’s been

A year and now we pretend

We’re together as

The director shoots the

Scene from behind. I

Could hardly muster a ‘hi’

(And I wonder why I’m

Even here. I feel set-up

By fate.) We ignore the

Cat-calls as we pretend

Walk in our pretend

Relationship in a pretend

location in pretentious time. Could

We have fought these

Jeers had we stayed together?

Such questions are like us

Fake thoughts bottled in a man’s

Crazy imagination. Later on

We cuddle – and we’ve

Never cuddled before – what a mess

Of hands and feet and arms I couldn’t

Place and faces I couldn’t see.

I try to put my arm around

You – feels wrong, doesn’t it?

The director’s mad, she doesn’t

Think I’m comfortable with you –

Does she know what happened

Before? Does she know how much

I’ve waited for you? Was she there

When I smiled when I first saw

You? Can she meticulously

Count the drops of alcohol

I consumed mending myself

Over you? I lay

Beside you. You lay by me, but

Only because you were

Directed so. I play

With your hair, my hand on

Your chest. I feel your breath and mine

Rises with it. This is the closest

We’ve ever been. Between shots

We don’t talk, (Can’t,

To be more accurate)

Can’t even look. For when I see your

Eyes, I stare at reflecting

Pools. Your hollowed-out

Recesses do not posses the questions

That have haunted me today. Does he ever

Wonder what if? Does he regret? If the

World has changed, shit has been

Diff’rent, perhaps some lines deconstructed,

Does he see in me a love we could have had?