You sat me down at the dinner table
and slid your hands around my waist
like a pair of spoons trying to kiss one another.
Our hearts were naked and full of wine,
heavy with the weight of drunken sorrow.
No one ever taught us in school
that our bodies would be like burning buildings,
less like fire escapes
and more like twenty-story apartments
with no open windows.
The moon was the only thing that slid in between
our skin, its light illuminating our pores
as if we had been pricked full of holes.
One thing, also, that we had never been taught:
learning to love ourselves
was the first step
in learning to love someone else.