slicing the lemon 

the waiter comes to refill our glasses,
his pitcher clinking with ice & metal.
we order nothing but wait for the planes
to land in the middle of the street.
we watch out the window & drink water
with lemons hanging on the lips of each glass.
we talk about diners & how the menu has
everything you could ever want & the waiter
comes back again & again & again
pitcher after pitcher. he doesn't ask questions
just examines us unsure if we're actually humans.
i want to tell him that we're not--
that we're ghosts of ideas we once had.
that we walked all the way here as invisible 
as windows-- the water like swallowing ourselves.
it rained earlier that day & neither of us noticed.
we were inside & fixated on furniture & walls.
i walked on the ceiling & you told me i should
get down soon because i promised we would
do something romantic for once. i took too long
to respond. i had sent my head to several planets--
each of them without water. i was parched.
i needed so much water. we were two lakes
that no god ever bothered to fill in. on the way there
i picked up old losing lottery tickets & told you
they were art. you said they were sad. they were
limp & wet from the rain we didn't see.
i asked how we can be sure it rained since 
we didn't actually see it rain & we agree 
there's no way to be sure-- that it is quite
possible that the entire earth flooded 
between the time we last crawled into our house
& this afternoon. we both see how long
we can hold our breath. at the diner i dare
myself to climb into the glass of water 
& hold my breath there. the waiter fills it up
& walks away & truth is that he is 
a ghost too & that all waiters are reborn into
more waiters slicing lemons into sixths.
i put the lemon in my mouth as if 
i'm smiling. you tell me to be careful
because the water is cold. i want to be preserved
in ice like arctic mammals. i pull you in too
by your tongue. i tell you happy anniversary 
& i can't remember what that means so i sing
underwater like a whale. you cry & your tears
come out as ice cubes. you tell me to drink 
so i drink & the waiter comes back around
to fill up the glass. ice laughing over our foreheads.
outside it might decide to rain again
or maybe the sun will squeeze itself like a lemon
& hang over the edge of the world. maybe we will
taste sour on everything & chew ice for relief.
i pressed my face to you, you beautiful window
& you said you were hungry.