the view from behind glass

sometimes both the men i love
stand in the same room, touch
shoulders.

sometimes they take bits of food
from each other’s plates, order
the same dessert.

i want to take both their hearts
lower them into a glass jar,
fill the empty space with honey.

two years and i will break the seal.
there will only be one left.
the other heart will have dissolved
like salt in warm water.

only

i pretend it is only his body that did it.
only his body that flattened her,
ironed her thighs wrinkle-free,
sliced her down the middle, a mortician’s cut.
his own hips: tracing the smooth wave
of a hasty suture.

only his guitar calloused fingers digging
making little circles inside her
like a child searching
through a pile of buttons.

only his mouth pressing down over her eyes
so that she could not even tell she is awake,
but she hopes she is not.

i pretend that it will still feel safe
to laugh around him, to find his
shoulder blades with my hands mid-hug.

i imagine folding his white
body like a dishtowel.