My eyes fixate on his words that spill out in bold black letters. They fleet through the air like smoke from a burning cigarette. I watch them drift upward into the fallacy of the endless night sky. Wondering if his letters could ever spell out my name. The way I spell out these chance encounters where I am allowed to be aloof in the presence of someone so unmistakably beautiful. He smirks in my direction as I become paralyzed in his enchantment. He knows not my name or identity, just that I am here and watching the breath between his words and the sky merge together in unity. He inhales oxygen the way I want to inhale his heart beat. Faster than I can express the heat that erupts in my chest cavity. Billowing, boiling and bubbling over in vast amounts of extravagant imagination. I watch his words come out with italic intentions. Capturing my body movements and cardiac rhythm in oil painting strokes. I watch his words come out in every language that I cannot translate, I am merely floating in his diameter of influence. Yearning nothing more than his charismatic words to whisper my name from the podium of self-righteousness that I so desperately am drawn too.
I frantically search my blue veins of something as tangent and congealing as the passion between your eye brows and the stiffness in your arched jawline. I notice the tension between molars and wonder if you weren’t born naked but born with this relentless responsibility. This distinguished and defiant adornment of the human mind. I wonder if you know we only receive a you once in a lifetime. That whatever you are preaching, your followers will be seeking to redefine to fit into the millennium they are born into. Because you are translations ahead of this era.
If I can only punctuate your mind for one moment I hope in that breath you become immobilized in the capacity of my devotion. I hope you realize that my thoughts are merely a passing current compared to your tidal waves of merciless truths. That you are the teacher and I am crippled by the weight of trying to follow in your led filled footsteps that leave volcanic ash drifting in the wake of your absence.
I chant your harboring passions like a ship drifting in the wavelengths, like an addict waiting to pass the piece, like a believer resting on the preacher’s final speech.
Will I tell my children I knew the father of a new generation, a new condensation of warfare without weaponry or will I tell them they have his bloodline. Because infatuation this beautiful is merely a waiting game for you to realize that you pass through me like dried concrete.
I stand here in the bitter breeze of April’s trickery wondering if I could ever be someone who is worth missing. Wondering if someone as groundbreaking and manifesting as your black eyes would ever compromise for a battered belittlement of what I confine. If this moment of you pulling a hard drag of your exposed cigarette is all I am eluted too, then I pray I remember not only your bone structure but the burning edge of your fractioned self-worth. Knowing that everything you believe is both transparency of change and a heavy curse.
I walk away curdled in the animosity of never holding you close enough to become part of your ancestry. I walk away with the sunburn of your fantastically flaming charisma, licking my lips, wondering what it would be like to taste your heritage. I walk away in the assurance, I have witnessed a miracle. Wondering how my words could ever do justice to the verdict of loving you without probable cause. Knowing the fines of lost freedom are heavier than a weighted checkbook and overdraft fees. Knowing we are jaded in the appearance of someone as omniscient as your body posture. Knowing the time in between the synapses of your brain to form speech is the time that my world, stands completely, still.
