if you had a girl like we 

you would have nothing at all     our fine porcelain & high foreheads     misbehaving laughter that gives away the outlines of our mothers     we, unable to iron them out     our first & forever instrument     the albums that had in childhood     incited us to habitual greed     when Ashanti runs back to him we are propelled     further from our fates     gluttony grown like no-good men     & we are the worst of them all     guest vocalists endowed godhood     & thank God     our husband is the waiter we will never see again     Ivan making us play rock-paper-scissors for the last slices of bread     left in the Puerto Rican restaurant     as if jibaritos are hardship     games we share     & so we wife one another’s syntax     til it sits between us like a shared idol     stalk of incense speaking into the ceiling     til we both inshallah over iced coffee     two-toned jackets ringing thru the graceless dark     we who crush on the nightsky as a matter of cliché     analyzing her slant in low voices     Shalamar we set beside Manu Chao     inert cars we mock w/ our ankles     skipping past scarred pavement     overturned tarot cards     questions of who we will wed     if we will wed them well at all     we w/out each other still a we     & heat like the hinge of a door     opening us into another dialect of light     a different song about looking back so very long ago     canned cocktails in our mouths when Meelah sings     See, he’s my property     no man will ever love us like the music     the music loves us so     & so we marry it once more     sublime runs we take turns     tossing up to the heavens.