He sits, hands slack,
hope pouring off him in waves,
begging me to close the distance
to put him out of his misery.
I cross the last few feet,
then crash into him,
my arms wrapping around his neck,
my body slipping between his spread thighs,
my heart slamming against bone.
I’m here.You win, you stubborn, beautiful idiot.
But soon, you’re gonna wish you hadn’t.
A second ticks by.
Then his arms slide around my waist,
drawing me into his chest.
His face buries in my neck,
and when he exhales,
it’s shaky, hot, fucking ragged,
like finally letting it out almost killed him.
9 /RAIN — A COLORS SHOW
THE TESKEY BROTHERS, COLORS
// NOV 03, 6:03 AM - CELIE'S WALK-UP - NOLITA, NYC //
Celie gave me a key to her walk-up years ago.
I turned it into a threat. A weapon. A backstage pass to barge in whenever I need to unload my bullshit.
I haven’t needed to use it until now. At 6 a.m.
But the second the door swings open,
I regret ever coming here.
Celie looks like roadkill.
Her eyes are puffy, bloodshot,
a post-sob haze hanging heavy on her face?—
evidence she’s been crying all night.
