Forever
The water was so still
I believed it would keep us
right-side up forever
there in that pool
on a night so dim
it looked like the negative
of itself, with the friend
I loved in high school,
a boy (I thought
they were a boy) who
had also shed
their clothes and risked
the bare run into
chlorine heaven, a place
that seems like a myth
to me now, where I felt
no shame, our twin forms,
from far away,
naked mirrors
of the other, bodies
we both lied about
every day, but that night
I helped you shave
your legs for the first
time, soaping them
and edging a cheap pink
razor up your calf, rinsing
sixteen years of
growth in the wrong
direction down the drain,
listening to Karen Carpenter
whimper from another
room, we’ve only just begun.
