he was trilingual-
spoke tongue, tooth, and grin.
when we crossed paths,
i saw infinite
sunrises in his
breath. but his dark hands
felt like January
evenings and his lips,
like snapped tree branches,
fell short of meeting
mine. his whispers were
never uncertain
but always fumbling,
as though his words
were tall glass vases,
empty and tipping,
instead of stone walls.
weeks dissolved into
months and i was af-
raid to push his hands
away. could this man
give me what i need?
i wondered every night,
wrapped in light blankets.
“make way for me,” he
called to my body.
“you never say please,”
i replied. and turned
away at last.