Breadcrumb #572

ZEV TORRES

Of course, you don’t have to convince me 
That our long walks into the dusk 
While the remnants of summer angled away, 
Meant nothing, 
Was an ill-conceived, purposeless lark
That failed, even as a diversion,  
All told, was a complicated episode best forgotten by us both, 
Even though my contributions to the arbitrary designs 
Brought to life by your fevered imagination,  
Did help you pass the time, 
Until your own healing began. 

All the same, 
You might want to know  
That the churning winds and vainglorious clouds, 
Our swaying through the chill until our shoulders touched,
And remained in contact,
The crunch of leaves underfoot, 
Your burnt red smile — 
Which you insisted appeared only to mark the change of seasons — 
Stripped away the reluctant acrobat -- 
Whose only feat was to swing from rib to rib
And inhibit my breaths --
Leaving a faint scar on my chest that, 
In dimly illumed reflections and, 
If no one else is present, 
To the best of my recollection
Resembles you.

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