It hit the window like a bird;
it hit the
nothingness like a wind.

You knew you were supposed to feel it,
feel it but all you could
feel was the rough brush of his stubble

on your chest. And he smelled of
colored bubbles and wax.
And you knew how much he wished you were

someone/anyone else, someone
else than who you were at that moment,
feeling his stubble and his breath

on your chest while you thought about
your thousand voices
in the eyes of
God.