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you and your friend carried me, drunk
across the cobblestone road in the Altstadt
where I shouted
“Ich bin ein Flügel!”
to the patrons of a nearby bar
my crude German made you laugh your wide  laugh                                                                                                                                                                  I wasn’t even a bird
one night we randomly bumped into each other
in the botanical gardens,
again I was drunk
but it was warm enough for the cement floor
to feel cool and reassuring
and I could feel the top of your head
buzz like an antennae

you were at my 18th birthday party
and gave me an affectionate peck before you left
when I was struggling to stay awake
(you gave me a box of Flic Flacs with a belt to hold them)
I think that was the last time I saw you—really saw you
I still have the belt in a box
thousands of miles away

I saw you in the Storchen
we were in want of space
I was a vampire
you were not

curtain close is
strangely monotonous
I mourn silently alone
because reality does not allow
any degree of hysteria

Are you still in Boston?

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