2:17 a.m. (Macy Portela, Part Two)

I

We were always an illusion,

Macy, my sweet delusion.

I see it all now.

And oh but how.

Just a few seconds more of

That embrace,

My naked arm around your shoulder,

Looking at each other for one moment

(Longer):

You in your black beanie,

A hint of red creeping out

Beneath the rim,

Me not thinking of her—

You not thinking of him.

Our last real second together.

II

I would have been satisfied.

I would have been satisfied to continue the charade—

Continue the charade I had constructed,

The fantasy continuing, unobstructed.

(The three of us.)

To us, I was never a threat.

Mace Mace—just the two of us—

Never a regret,

The butt of a joke I should have deducted.

III

One last question: was that last call for me

Or was the final scene for someone else;

Was all that love for you only for pretending

Or was it just a moment you were lending?

Your twists and your pretzel logic bendings:

Blurred beginnings arise from precise endings.

I just wanted to make it last for one last second—

A moment before the unconditional had conditions

(but)

Things you once handled you could no longer handle—

Our one a.m. endings got out of hand.

You broke up the band.