There is never enough time for this. You smell sweet and wheaty like cereal and missing you is too familiar, I anticipate it like the middle of a story I’ve read.  In the family holiday game, you are an expert, offering park drives and champagne refills and perfectly timed jokes, photographing me and Timmy just at the moment our bickering turns to laughter.  I want to be just as well dressed and charming for you when we eat chicory-squash pizza with your friends at the big Potrero restaurant table, but I get quiet and then tired & sick, have to be taken home to bed, doused with blankets and cough syrup.  I want to be one long dance & fuck & whisky glass, but instead I’m worn out by airplanes and work.  But I cherish you, standing naked in front of the window with your coffee cup and Detroit trucker hat.  I cherish you holding my fingertips just lightly across the water glasses and plates, deep in conversation with Patrick next to you about Cuban bike routes, not even looking at me just rubbing your thumb along the side of my hand.  I cherish you under the prom-cafeteria décor at Stay Gold, pulling the bottle from your boot, eating peanuts and following me into the middle of the crowd, your legs getting between mine, the one song you like, a whoop and grin and I meant what I said in the hallway.  I meant it when you pressed my shoulders there and said answer me, you still haven’t answered.  The answer was yes.

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