That day I drank the sky.
That day when I was the simplest contradiction
and you flew inches like miles.
My head was a tambourine and the sound of my turn to look at you
brought out your toothy grin behind lips of street gutter innocence.
These were the ones I liked the most.
And as we left Shakespearean footprints
in smog playing grass
we would open our mouths like our minds
and eat air bred by the kinds of things
that humans never talk about.
That was also the day I saw the ceiling in the floor
and realized that my breath was what
your name was for.