I'd Breathe You In Every Single Day

There's that feeling tonight.

A sweet incense mixed with the air, tonight.

Complex, but not heavy or perfumed.

A boy left a voicemail message for me tonight.  I never replied to a text he had written a few days ago, so he called and said he had thought since he hadn't heard from me that maybe it was because I was offended by a story he had told of how he was awful to his brother as a child.

How he would tease his brother and tell him that "he was gay".

I had to laugh.

I told him that when I was a child, I was trying to poison other children, so he was fine.

I'm not interested, though.

There is something else I am concentrating on.

With my hands in my pockets and my lips slightly parted from looking up towards the sky.

Can you see it?

I can.

The embarassing soundtrack to this plan.



Be well, be loved,


k.

(Women's Hands, 1981, by János Xantus)