eleven i think

Somehow it's easier to talk when it's so fucking cold--we let our mouths run dry to warm our tongues, clench words in windtunnel ears until we Hear All and Tell All. Eleven blocks of Confessions, of When I Was A Kid, of I Know You, I Think.

Then two tequila smiles. Lime and salt and travel stories. A hallway.

And by morning we don't forget. I Know You, I Think, over coffee and eggs and I Have To Go but an hour passes. Because I Know You, I Think. I Just Want To Be Sure.

I can't remember the last time I was giddy for tomorrow.

And until tomorrow I will let books swallow me up, contemplate the one sixteenth of me that history erased and feel a little excited and self-enthralled because I Can't Help It.

So much happens Up Here now. I Would Know, I Think.