your copper skin and your curious sweaters
make the vodka-sharp taste of adrenaline rise in the back of my throat
all the more pungent because i have to swallow it immediately.
you can't grow a beard, so strange for someone of your race,
and you think i am beautiful and you think i don't know that.
and you laugh quietly, and suffer silently, but your jokes bring me to my knees and you
really, really love your friends, and i am wistful because
you are not my own, and more importantly
i will never be your own because i am his
and so it is
a bitter feeling, the girls put a
red screen before me
i have no claim,
a cynic making eyes at an unbeliever.

08/30/2010

Author's Note: AP

Posted on 08/31/2010
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