There was a story in the way you held yourself, a tale
for the square-ness of your shoulders and hands hidden in pockets,
that I so wanted to know.
But it was the eyes that got me.
Surprised, because I never really noticed
such silly things.
Kindness in such a hard face,
mixed with insecurities and a self esteem low enough
to trip over.
So I took you home, took off your jacket,
and saw the dirt-gray wings
hidden under, pressed to a dark shirt that clung onto
skin and bones.
And your smile offered only honesty
and a night not spent alone.
So you kissed me once,
and though I asked
You wouldn't tell me why God took away your words;
so I kissed you twice
and gave you mine.
- Then you sang me a song
raw and reminiscent of a time you had been loved
We dozed with the rain,
and I found the perfect pillow
in the crook of your elbows.
It didn't want them,
but that didn't stop you from leaving me
your wings while I was sleeping.
You were up and out before dawn,
Black jacket on and pale as ever.
And in the haze of waking moments, I know heard you say thank you,
but I never heard you say goodbye.