i stood in the freezing cold outside the bar clutching a heineken while you showed me the pictures. i pretended i wasn't shaking and you pretended you weren't sad and the night sky pretended it didn't watch us, the opening of some mediocre film about life.
you asked me how long it's been and no, i couldn't answer because time has no arms or legs in my stories so i said it's been awhile, i said it's been a really fucking long time. i know because i'm almost ready, the blood is on the brink of shouting out your name & even if it's a whisper i'll take it and make it beautiful, even if it's just me crunching fall leaves under a new pair of boots. i wrote "cinnamon mouths" on a slip of paper and prayed you knew what i meant, that we'd get there, on our feet or maybe in a jet plane.
we weren't face to face then and we had not yet held hands but you named the freckle above my lips meg white & said my eyes were emeralds.