I still don’t know why you slept with him.

In those far off years, my mind saw miles of cotton candy 
surrounding our big brass marching bands,
and the yellowing grass of the run down football fields
where you once told me I’d better know what I was doing.
                                         Four months later I still didn’t know.

You are the story of nut brown hair in my mouth, 
and in those far off years I locked to your hips
an entire fraternity screamed get a room.
Not an hour later, I was laid out, spent, and dressed.
Your first kill.

You lived in my den.  
Every night or so, we made it
to the sound of Joni, Neil, or Mazzy, 
and I thought, hopefully this world would last.

And then you were gone, knowing you liked me.

In those far off years I missed the precious, unseen 
knockarounds, and the sweet smell of your hidden neck.
You slept with my best friend,
and I wondered why you chose him.