like it's alive.

With my forehead against your bathroom tiles,
grout tracing time lines against my face
the small hexagons of our neighborhood
black and white and black and white
flow by like the city lights.
Every once in a while I can hear lines
from the movie you are watching in the other room
I listen a little
as if it were you,
speaking to me.
That night lurks in the memory,
a griding implication of all the
not good enough I have been
the whole time.
I feel like I'll be following you forever,
you the closest idea to perfection
the first conversation over plastic wine glasses
that never stopped.