“To tell you the truth, if I had a chance to kill it, I would
         take it and shake it and kiss it to death.”—Robert Nanna

So sweet, the shapes in the hall. You drink
your vinegar hot, eat your fries with malt. We’re so
young, we’re not far from dead, but the music

is rattling around in the car and we know
where we are and we might as well use it. It is cold
dice in the back of a can and a sort-of made bet

to stick to the plan to undress each other so slow no
one would notice and then kiss. Like this. We’re so
dumb, we fumble around but the sound of guitars keeps

on mimicking stars and when the album is done,
we come to a new secret, one that will stay and hey,
from so many years past, thank you for the heat and the sweat

and the breath and for knowing I would keep my lips
closed on your name. I know the same, but the album
still plays.