rc.i

we were old friends, you and i.

we danced under that umbrella,

the one with the broken spoke,

and were soaked during that storm.

but wetness meant nothing to us.

we were there, by the lakeside,

together with our chill and gooseflesh

while the others hid, warm, inside.

your pinky finger wrapped itself

deliberately around my index

along the pole, and my brain was struck

with electric bolts of exaltation.

but you didn’t give a fuck then,

and you’ve never
given one since.