There is a polaroid of you
In my pocket.
Of the denim black stretched pants covered in dry-crumbly-stick-to-my–nails-and-my-hair-and-the-folds of-our-skin chocolate icing we smeared
on each other’s faces.
It is a picture of us outside of a house that isn’t ours.
You have a halo above your head
That is really the archway of a stranger’s door.
You are singing to the moon
and we are covered in Christmas.
We are covered in love
in each other’s pumping hearts
in each other’s grace
ba doop be bop
ba da da dee.
We are covered in the courage of
the kind that twisted into the knots of my fingers
and built the pipe-cleaner-foam-heart sign
so I could find you on the concrete curb of the airport.
that broke a glass
and built a life