For Buna

You came in 

maybe twice a month 

it was straight out of an Alicia Keyes song

more than condensed milk

and sugar in tiny packets

because I thought 

you were

not only sweet

baby boy

but also 

so damn fine

breezing through 

taking the last swivel chair

surfer-dorky-Berkeley cool

in plaid and puka shells

I was not yet me

not the me I know right now

I was the me you will never see

what you saw 

was weariness

and quiet

you mistook

for lack of words

or worldliness

I helped you

keep that illusion

afloat

Contented 

with stolen glances

and the rare times our 

fingers met

over 

that plate 

of Monte Cristo.