maybe.

He vanished like my grandfather’s coffin, sinking slowly into the cozy earth.
Except it’s worse because he lives, living to take another girl to
a lake with a night mist that is like magic drifting above your waist.
He folds into this girl, kisses her soft pillow of stomach, as Air plays
Softly in his car. They are warm and flushed now. Light plays on his face.
It's the headlights passing by us, by them.

My glad heart swelled, even when
Our teeth clinked together
Like toasting wine glasses.
I pointed at you with a cocktail straw,
Laughed and said, “That was your fault.”

When you played “Lover’s Spit” in
My dorm, you asked the question,
Flushed with hope, “Are you sure?”
You know, I think it’s time
that we grow old and do some shit.