11:13PM on a Sunday night. His breaths are running down my neck like raindrops. We were young when we lunged forward, backward, eyes holding fast to something we thought (we knew) was true. You were glorious when you ripped, mouth spread, through the tumbling apple-weeds behind my back door (heart open, into places the mind can’t see). I was the color of your face left flush in the rain when you stood outside and I couldn’t see you because I didn’t know if I wanted to anymore and you told me This was something and I told you I couldn’t love someone who said things like that (because you were lonely and I was, too).