Oh?

Block-walking on a March twilight in zephyr masquerade
we stumble on sidewalk buckles, we race these young hearts
until they give. We are old. We have eaten too many
       hamburgers. Sung too often without dancing.
       Felt the Pittsburgh cold
hacking at our bones too early. I know
you have spent solitary nights curled, clenching your insides,
body snapping (in spite of it) open repeatedly
until you break, your breath
rejecting you. Raw as family.
We are too new
to wear these wrinkles. I have taken for granted the
       movement of these legs
but she sees the shadow on my lip,
sees that I am not a beauty.
What is the use of nineteen
if I can't run without wind? catch his eye? laugh, and hold
no reserve? There is no genius in spring, only green, only
       jasmine;
the genius sleeps til December;
what use these months of half-snow? icicle flowers?