Outbound trains

I know there are things that I shouldn't do-
situations divided by earthquaking sidewalks
and I jump at the last minute towards you.
The same sidewalks you use as an excuse to be
gentlemanly; tucking me away inside, reminding me of someone
I'd never mention to you. Secrets from secrets
available weekly at the dollar matinee. There are things that you
used to say, continue to say, things that I keep tucked away
in a tiny envelope, in a tiny file folder inside of a teeny filing cabinet
way in the back of my mind. Things I can't bear repeating
to anyone else but you, months after the fact maybe only as a reminder to myself
"Hey, remember one time you told me..."
and you smile-of course you remember-unless of course we were drinking.
and were we drinking? were we breathing? was I soft dancing in your kitchen,
spilling droplets of champagne?
You made me a million flowers but you hate when I play with your dolls
though I (like to) think that you liked when me and my best friend curled up inside your bed,
turned on your Chinese lamps and hid our heads under your down feather pillows. Giggling
softly because that's where you found me, you found me again
after a stint in my backseat where you thought I was dead.
Woke up with the windows down, keys above my head and crawled up your
stairs, locking you out, I'll never know how you got back in.
Swinging from rafters and hiding behind trains, we go months without speaking then
pick up again. Like star crossed losers on a West bound train and I tell
you the wrong songs on purpose.