e. v. noechel
Next Time, Mercutio
I used to scream
at the page, Juliet
go to Manchua. Don't
let him go alone. He won't save
any poison for you.)

But now I want you
to remember the four
of us sharing vodka
and two coats
after the play.

I want you
to remember only two
bars in town and the touch
of cold fingers under lacquered
tables, the surprise of sandless
beaches, and the sticky heart
that knows too well
the end of the story.

Once, I talked to you
like I talk to myself
and we clung to each other
like we were dying
with the mayflies.

But I learned, since then
more than the way
you love soft pulls,
wet hand-job kisses,
and the tails of misled stars:

Names are a red herring.
Cab fare out of Verona costs
more than I thought. Lovers
never survive exile and there is more
than enough poison for both of us.
From Murder Of Crows