Brendan Walsh

we build a world of your apartment.
nest in the persistent a/c growl
all summer. you skip work

to drink cocktails on your porch;
you bet i won’t pee in a wine glass.
so i do. you bet i won’t stay all week,

all month, all year. i do. it isn’t simple
to love someone so manic, i say.
you say that i make it easy. sundays,

i gather pastries from the patisserie
down the street, scramble eggs,
pull espresso. am i annoying you yet?

i ask, which annoys you. i am
horrified–can i say this?–of losing
you. i fry you fish, assemble tacos.

we watch a baking show, make
sticky toffee pudding. i can’t
think about you without imagining

your departure. what will take you,
i wonder, in my warm cave of worry.
you rub my back when i can’t sleep.

i never sleep, but curl into your hips.

keep me, keep me, keep me. i rock myself

unconscious, your hand on my shoulder.