Smoke stains over time, and the beer bottled graveyard I had to step over to get to you that wistfully blurred 3 o'clock morning will probably leave it’s mark sooner. I told you we should take a walk, and that blank stare could've meant anything, but I was sure you were just waiting for me to pull you off the couch. You need a kickstart at near dawn just like everyone else. Stepping out in the brisk breathmisting air, hand in hand, like we knew each other, you asked me where we were going. Silence isn’t always the best answer, but it does get the point across. I think we went east, but it’s hard to be sure with no sun. After twenty minutes we turned north, I think, and, despite the cold, the ice started to melt. You smiled. I didn’t know you could. I made you laugh. You didn’t know I could. Faded streetlights cast our shadows in pale amber and black in three different directions While we spoke in a language neither of us should’ve known. Young love has it’s own dialect. We were too old for that tongue. Spinning south and slowly slipping in and out of conversation we found ourselves in front of the house we started from. The sunrise seemed to’ve been waiting for us to climb on the roof, and the redding clouds on the horizon looked to be filling with blood, like a blister, waiting for us to add our weight to the morning so it could explode. It only took a night for me to smell you in random dreams and wake up thinking you were closer than reality. Smoke stains over time and it’s a scent you never rid yourself of and addiction is always a kiss before death.

07/10/2006

Posted on 07/10/2006
Copyright © 2024 Aaron Michael