what color are your eyes, again: May. 27, 2004 (10:03 am)

we crossed baltimore avenue together, my hands on my head and your hands on your box to hand over to ben who i stood with a week ago while he shared cigarettes with his friends, fingers close to fingers and fingers close to mouths. we left empty handed and i tried to think of something to say while we waited for the light to turn red because silence feels like resignation these days. i'm used to offering you slow, introspective correspondences over five hundred miles so when we find ourselves on the same street corner near washington, dc i'm lost but there was that time we made cups of tea that taste like licorice and drank together on your bed in boston.

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