Fair

I still remember
the way Tyler Durden argued with himself
the first time you kissed me, barrel against cheek,
lips against lips,

the way we lay in the leaves after school,
went home to an empty house,
and left an hour later.

I still smell the cloves off our Blacks,
remember how silent our world was
as you held me under our canopy of leaves,
listening to Fair as I sat on the hood of my car,

and as you loved me while Natalie Portman
tap danced on the TV upstairs
in front of the fireplace.

I still love you, even though
I'm not supposed to remember
or believe, lips against lips
against the barrel of a gun, listening to Fair

as you hold me and love me
under our tree of golden leaves
and gilded memories.

You tell me maybe.
They tell me not to think about you,
but I breathe the smoke off your lips
and love your lies; it’s like they say,

only after disaster can we be resurrected.
And you: you were always
my finest catastrophe.