Sixty five questions, a quiz dated 1974,
Is Friendship A Fundamental Part of Love?
I write slowly in pencil I love a woman’s back,
the peach fuzz, the soft spot behind her ear.
With two hundred and six bones aroused,
muscles move tight around the tibia,
I tell the quiz that waiting rooms hold life together.
Across from me sits a girl, branded pale
with the tan lines of a wedding band.
She gives me that I’m poison and you don’t have to drink it
glare from across the room. I yawn.
I fit my answers neatly into the space provided for me.
My heart sweats like the lime at the bottom of a
doctor's margarita. Time moves slow and I shiver.