We Have Nothing to Talk About

But my mouth keeps on opening Telling trade secrets, breaching slumber party Trance confessions, light as a feather, Stiff as a board, your fingers In circles on my temples. That was whiskies ago, In this city where beer is so sacred We converge, have toasts. A few topics attempt value… Bangs, noses, the price of pitchers… Three games of pinball and I’ll leave you a line in the bathroom Under the matchbook As long as you don’t kiss him While I’m gone.