When I stood on that ledge
beneath that great green beyond
and plunged into a digital bath
courtesy of the Deftones,

you were standing there.
Pouting

because you thought I was
playing favorites,
when really I was just playing

You.

And when I sprinted down that
bright green blunder,
it reminded me of the first time we
met up on the golf course at three in the morning
and ran
(booked it, if you will)
from that bacon-strip prick,
feet slapping against the wet,
sex hair un-kempt,
ducking behind that sandy bunker
while the floodlight bombarded us with
identity.

And I’m fairly certain that
you were wearing those
striped green-and-black socks
that I grew to lo(athe)ve;
that first night in your garage,
propped up against that couch
like cigarette butts

Erect
in an ashtray.

“Green is the color that stands out
most vividly in your memories,” they say.

“Not bad for your first time,” you say.