For: You

We walk through the heat at midnight

He makes a fist with his hand when I try and hold it

Says he likes his hands free

Crescent moon

Pizza slices

He folds his over,

Then bites

The blocks of cement we pass

And like a gymnast on the beam, I tiptoe across

A black open gate with gold spikes

Someone’s red lace up shoes and a stained blanket

We pretend someone enters the gate

He closes it after them

I-open it up again

A shadow on my wall of me and his basil plant that sits on
the window’s ledge

He points it out

And in the film section of the bookstore

James Dean photographs

He’s doing ballet

We both wear our glasses

Blowing smoke outside the door

We move outside and forget about the spider

With the spotted legs that later we’ll photograph

In the morning we’re both bit

I check outside

Spiders in the same spot


Rain now and extra blankets

Clean and laundered fresh

On the outside porch of the Coffee shop


We read each other

For a long while

And browse the antique store with all the keys and cameras

And other people’s lives

And their stories

I dance

And come home to hold your hand and snooze

The spiders gone on vacation

Soon, we too will be in a vast desert

Each others red moon sweat

The books our blankets

Covered in thoughts

One shadow; two us

(The basil plant needs a new pot you say,

A different home-you say you’re learning to love)


And even if the basil plant went brown and all the leaves of
my life crumpled to dust

I would still open the black gates with gold spikes at

And love the shadow that’s silhouetted in the darkness

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