I spent three seasons in love
with someone who was not my boyfriend.
He was in love with someone else’s girlfriend
and so we understood desire similarly,
how it is a visitor you invite in for a drink
who stays for dinner, unpacks his things,
and uses all the drawers in your guest room.
The girl he was in love with was dating someone who
I had, at another time, been a little in love with, too,
and he, in is own way, with me.
But he was a narcissist
and eventually I realized that I was in love with the reflection of the lake
still in his eyes when he turned to look at me.
He came over one night
-- the one in love with the other girl --
and in the morning I took a picture of his hat on my beside table.
It satisfied everything in me to see it there, next to my rings and a condom wrapper.
More satisfying – are you surprised? – than the sex we’d had.
He was young and a little drunk
and I was on my period.