1.

When he sits on bar stools,

his legs dangle, childlike.

I like it when he looks

small.

2.

The subway tiles in his shower

are separated by mildewed lines

that remind me of

the TTC.

3.

His hair is the colour of Ikea dark brown-

“Malm,”

like his dresser-

he matches everything.

4.

In his garage, there is a picnic basket we never use.

Red napkins and cheap cutlery are tucked inside

checkered pockets. A mouse chewed through one and

the spoons poke through,

hanging by their heads.

5.

He grasps a copy of An Infinite Jest from the top, and

anchors it in his chest as he reads, as though

trying to pin it down.

I can’t stop staring,

waiting to see if the story might slip away, or

crash into his lap, at least, losing

his place.

6.

He smells like Indian summer- which I don’t

think is okay to say anymore-

like campfire

and oil

and pine.