Halloween, 2012

Pumpkin guts coat the sidewalkWith an orange filmAnd leaves,Dry as old bones,Stand upright in the cracksLike small treesFrom an airplane windowBefore landing,We walk in the street insteadBecause my boots are brand newAnd your sneakers are whiteAnd, chances are,We already haveSugary fruit punchThat Sam spiked with bad vodkaStuck to our soles alongsideDog shit andChocolate bar shavingsSo pumpkin guts will only make thingsStickierThan they already areFor you and I.

We walk with our armsStraight downAnd our hands hiddenUnderneath too-long sleeves,I feel your fingertipsGraze mine,

You’re dressed as the green M&MAnd I am a skeleton,You sniffleAnd ask me where I wanna goI shrug and youTell me that your dad’s houseIs emptyAnd that he went to his country homeIn Upstate New YorkTo celebrate HalloweenWith his new family,I nod.

We lay on his futonThat’s folded out intoA lumpy guest bedAnd you scroll through picturesOf your half-sisterDressed as a bumble-bee,Sitting on the groundOf a house that looks like itHas really high ceilings,

You click your phone offAnd tell me that your dad is an idiotAnd you take off your jacketAnd ask me if my hands are still cold,They’re not,But you hold them anywayAnd place them on your chestAnd climb on top of meAnd close your eyesWhile I try not to get myPoorly done skeleton makeupOn your M&M shirtThat your mom madeWith puffy paintFor the party tonight,

Your hips swaySlowlyLike a lake preparingFor a wild stormAnd you press your mouthHard on my neck,I tell you not to leave a markAnd you smileAnd press harderAnd I feel my heart drop six floorsAnd collide with my stomachOn the way downBecause we both knowThat our throats will close upAnd our eyes will fall outIf we walk out of your dad’s houseBruised andSweatingAnd someone confronts usAbout what happened,

It’s not that I want you to stopIt’s that you have toBecause I don’t want to be crucifiedOn the football fieldAt the pep rally on MondayAnd sometimesWhen I think too long about being a dykeI imagine my bloodRushing through the ground floor locker bayLike that one part inThe Shining.

The storm comesIn a heavy sheetAnd leaves lazilyWith cementGlued to the insideOf its shoes,Leaving the air humidAs you put your jacket back on.

I gulp waterFrom the faucet in the bathroomAnd inspect my neckFor evidence,We fold the bed back upInto a couchSilentlyAnd walk back outside,Dodging pumpkin gutsAs we walk home,

Three feet apart,

Our fingers curled into fists.