Breadcrumb #476


I remember the color of air before I was about leave my least favorite bar in Bushwick when you called out to me 

I liked to pretend I didn’t believe in Love back then

some nights I got on my knees and tried to cut at her with my own flesh

I swore and blasphemed her, defending the nightmarish gift that hisses at my veins

the moon witnessed the whole thing

to give up on Love is to assume the position of a shell and embrace the hollow fierce wind that takes up in the soul

howling obscure and indefinable; where does she reside?

you called out to me and I could feel her quiet breath on my neck

she never did turn away, but let me throw my fits

and timelessness laughed

and ignorance wept

we introduced ourselves right there in front of everyone because even strangers respect the beauty in hope

my hand touched your hand in a formality  

then my hand to my mouth, because I had to double check—

it was a smile

 • • •