I refuse to believe
a word you told me. We talked home
movies by your bedside lamp
       and shared a feather pillow.
Don’t talk to me about the fate
of birds when morning comes and all
       I hear is silence. Then I listen a
little longer and hear your soft breathing
I know you’re faking. You don’t sleep,
       I didn’t either. The absinthe on your
breath meant we lived long enough
to forget another night. How could
       we forget a lesson like that?

(originally published in Sweet Tree Review, Winter 2023)