It seems we both got everything
we wanted; me in the sterile branded
office with a title too long for anyone
to care, and you far away, with a woman
I do not care to know, tucked into the back
corner of forgotten-ness, only coming out
in those easily mornings when I go
to the communal keurig to make my morning
cup of tea. I hear your voice then, a hearty, solid laugh,
repeating a line from a title ix training
video, don’t make them tea, and how you mocked
the absurdity of the fact that we have to teach
men not to rape. And what was it again that you wanted?
The darkness only broken by the purple light
and a pubescent whine, I remember staring
at the ceiling and thinking, is this really what it is?
All of it? And in the grinding of teeth
and clashing of limbs somewhere in the middle
your laugh was gone, replaced with an unsatisfied
sigh and a refusal to look me in the eye
and tell me exactly what you had done.