Subtle Fiction

If I could tell you anything right now, 

I’d tell you about this city.

Wet, dirty sidewalks. High heels and bum-smell.

Fog sidles up from the sea, and stumbles over the hills into my overgrown garden.

I’d tell you about how my bicycle helmet’s chin strap scrapes against my beard and whispers in my ear, 

and about the woodshed flavor of motorcycle exhaust. 

I’d tell you how I think about ancient history.

I would ask you whether the sadness we share is a place to start, 

knowing already that the answer is “no”.

If I could tell you anything right now, 

I’d tell you a story about us,

That would arc through the skies and the ages,

Cementing our place in the history of lovers,

Knowing, as I speak the words, that they are a subtle fiction.