these are truths-

the scent of a jacket draping us in darkness. cold glass against my fingertips and the back of my neck.

     these are truths-

the dissonance of guitar strings abandoned. the smell of wood and brass and oil and the feel of fingers on my skin.

     these are truths-

the echo of concrete walls. her hand in my own and her lips on mine. traces of red lipstick on the corner of her mouth. a camera pressed between our bodies, forgotten around her neck.

     these are truths-

bodies pressed in on all sides. the feeling of stiff curls between my fingers. once, twice, again. i am in two places at once. second chances and first encounters are not mutually exclusive.

     (these are not truths-

tear stained cheeks hidden under the cover of night. long bus rides with unfamiliar hands holding my shoulders to keep them from shaking. abandonment and rediscovery months later. an unfamiliar face after years apart.)

     these are truths-

autumn leaves crackling underfoot. i run my fingers through your hair and the scent sticks to my pillow as i fall asleep. you are not my home but for the first time that is not a bad thing. hands clasped on long car rides west. an uncertain future. longing. wanting.

     these are truths-

me.

     these are truths-

you.