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)
