the house

last night i went to the house 
with a friend, with a bottle of lambrusco, 
it was filled with people, i did not know them 
only four did i know. 


the last time i went to the house 
we walked. 
we walked the twelve or so blocks 
asking questions and idle talk
that was not idle because my 
heart seethed for you. 


at the house we wound through the garden
overgrown and bramble threaded 
you handing me figs and apples 
i followed you 


you told me that you had a fantasy,
to die--
a fantasy to die, 
shot through the heart, 
while picking fruit 
in an orchard 


i told you that i had a fantasy,
to die--
a fantasy to die, 
hit by a car, 
a true collision, 
and you said, well, 


that makes sense,
for 
collisions are 
so sexy


i remembered our brief kisses then
and again last night
trapped again within the pulsations 
of the house

and your friend told me 
that you felt for me truly 
and i told him truly 
that i felt for you 


and then
i left the house.