I Try Not To Believe

Tell me about your high heels
traveling through time.
Tell me how to stay in touch,
how to become a shadow, or a light spot.

I doubt our book selves
would’ve been compatible,
the boredom of your topless nights
on my bed in your red panties
reading Sartre

The bottomless nights of my girls of ill repute,
the improbable dreams

Our lives lack formative events,
our bodies were so thin
we got bruised making love