Photo: Larry Fink
“You are my shelter” he said.
We bump into one another traveling, after years apart.
We sit in front row seats, in the back of a mini-bus.
I lay with my head on your shoulder, arms twisted, elbows bent, holding your hand to my mouth.
My lips brush your knuckles gently, in time with the bumping of the van; down muddy, boulder-strewn roads.
I watch unfazed as a woman, dark skin, black eyes, black hair, swoops in from the back of the bus kissing you, hot on the mouth; one fat, hungry kiss, burning for more.
You rip your mouth away.
The woman and I lock eyes.
we are all
I was safe
I am home.