sometimes, when you're not
trying to save the world or
build empires out of the
mortar hatred your father
planted inside your chest
like a factory that chews
and spits and bellows
when you're not breathing
fire and dust and business
you're a little bit human
and it's nice when we
both settle into the bony
seats at the Skyline theater
when our heads fall to
the same side and
the world smells
like buttered
popcorn, fresh
laundry and
comfort.