the 2am call

Watching water swells crash against yacht docks

on the top floor of her beach condo,

she walks onto the balcony

wind nipping at the towel

wrapped around her body

handing me a cup of coffee

and a bottle of her father’s brandy

the towel drops

a smile

long legs twisting around

rhythm rubbing between

hips kissing the guard rails

hair down, air drying in the salt

—the storm is getting closer

black clouds surrounding the island

as she dances

humming to a French melody

and I know

this is it for us

this is all we will ever be:

hidden in beach condos

New York apartments and

million-dollar vacation homes

she will call me,

between marriages,

heart breaks,

sleeping children,

sick family members,

and I will come to her,

to watch her dance, drink,

and fuck herself back together

in my arms,

whispering to me,

“I wish you were a man”