i awoke thinking about you this morning.
i called you as i walked up central park and you weren't at mit or any other fancy institution. you were right near the park, passing by and ready to argue about how the city wastes money on public art projects when they's so many other problems to contend wit, ya'know.
we agreed to meet in the park miraculously and agreed too to eat at a southern cooking place you like and we ate a little bit of corn bread and i ate one scrambled egg...cause you know eggs gross me out in large quantities.
you switched around your speech - the rhythm, syntax, accent, etc. and i liked it like it was performance art in the middle of a regular morning conversation.
we sat on a bench in the park; i let you kiss me and kissed you back and you touched my skin letting a cold breeze swim up my spine.
i thought about that moment today
your voice got gentle, you stopped calling me nigger and said, "Your skin is sooo soft."
maybe, like that morning walking around listlessly tuned out to the world and tuned in to you and me you thought this morning about me and that spiritual pull never consummated.
yes, i did give in to and up on love, but i can still think dreamily of what coulda been