crazy (déjà something)

is the sum of us
counted out into highway miles
between here and the ocean: two-

oh-seven the plastic
inscribed on the single room
key; three close

hours we fight
to keep the bed
from squeaking while your

four gushing walls tattoo
against my own
ever, a millisecond that melts

skin into skin & still
hurts with yearning; the backdrop blue-
lit bourbons spilt

through drip-
ping minutes of Saturday night
into the misty evanescence

of Sunday morning &
suddenly it’s five
twenty-five and unbearable:

the distance, the leaving in
darkness, the cleaving
breathless-ness of one.