Everything can be a confusing word. As in one instant, it can mean a collection of small amount of objects that are within view. But then, as if we disregard what we said just moments ago, it can mean every single thing. The iron core in a planet still yet to be known, to the collection of Polaroid’s from that one occasion where inhibition was out of the question. I say everything for everything, but not quite everything. And I’m only a little sorry.

I find myself home, my waking is the best when I am there. It’s far too hot when I peel myself from her. Skin slippery wet of sweat, hers sweet, mine sour. Packing the cigarettes on her knee there’s sort of a wave that moves in her thigh. I lick my lips, a sweet sour. I come to her with confessions. And she takes the guilt away with the smallest collection of words, but I mean everything. “It’s okay, I love you.” Like magic, a spell, a frog appears in my throat and I can no longer speak. So, as if repetition. I fall into her and she catches. She lights the cigarette. I walk to the glass door on her balcony and open it. The cities noise rolls in right onto us. I appreciate it for what it is as I walk back to the bed. She slips the cigarette to me. I flick the ash in an empty tonic can. Inhaling she takes the opportunity to go to the music player. A few swipes and Patsy Cline comes on. Foolin’ Around plays. I’m unsure if the choice is on purpose, but I forget it when I watch her hips sway with the sound. Poetry. She dances her way back onto the bed. I hand her the cigarette. “I would love to just see her once.” she says as I smirk. Crazy starts to play. “Put your clothes on, and maybe we can.” She jolts upward and runs behind her privacy screen. I pull my shirt over my head as she reveals herself. White summer dress with roses patterned up and down. I swear I keep falling for her. I walk over to the computer station still flabbergasted. I poke and stab at the with my fingers but nothing happens. She laughs as she hits the button on the side of the small device. I let her take over as I put on my shoes. I slide the knife into my sleeve as she gives sort of a gasp. “Here, Here!” She shouts. I take the location down in thought. She stands and wraps her arms around me. Walkin’ After Midnight comes on as the apartment disappears.

We’re someplace, a place that isn’t terrible, but with the intentions a few terrible people is. We hold hands as we walk into the desperate doors. The bar is dark enough and loud enough that no one gives a care to our entrance. I leave her behind me as I get two name brand whiskeys and two generic beers. I almost grab my debit card out as I didn’t have any cash for this time, but that wouldn’t have worked either. I ask to start a tab and the man behind the counter nods. We find a simple booth. She smiles trying to take it all in. One by one the eyes collect on her. She doesn’t notice, or does, but doesn’t care. But I do. The knife itches in my sleeve. There’s a microphone test. We cheers the whiskey. I toss it back, she’s happy. I want to cut the eyes that cut. But I try not to be the fiend. Try. Our beers are empty when the waitress walks up. She looks to me first, then looks at her. “We’re gonna need you two to leave now.” I twist my neck dumbfounded. “Why, we haven’t done anything? Can we get two more beers?” I ask trying to pass off her request. A man twice my weight decides to be the knight. Mind you, not all knights are good. “You heard the misses, take your Chink and get out!” the knife under my sleeve burns. I push the blade forward as practiced, but her hand stops me cold in my tracks. “Let’s go.” She doesn’t show a single sign of anger on her face as she asks to leave. I take her hand and we walk out of the bar. Not before I grab a bottle of Jack that was sitting in the middle of a table. The summer air feels far too cruel.

I sometimes forget racism. I hate the fact that I forget it as we lean against the alley’s wall. She drinks one, then two shots at least. With a whisper of a fuck, she wipes her mouth. “I can go in there and break all of their faces.” I tell her as I slip my hand over hers and the glass neck of the bottle. “What will that solve?” she asks. I take a drink, unable to create an answer I take another. “I’m sorry.” I say. We soon slouch against the wall as the music from inside leaks out. Walkin’ After Midnight, or what I believe it to be, plays. I help her up as she questions my attentions.

The knife pokes my palm as we walk through the masses of the crowded bar. We hold each other. I was scared of what they may do to her, and maybe she was scared of what I would do to them. As if they had memories of a goldfish no one pays any mind to us. We stand swaying against a wall. Patsy’s voice bellows right to our spirits. I leave one last drink for her. She takes it with glossy eyes. I watch as she drinks. Not letting the sight of her idle slip. Lost Highway begins. I hold her, and she holds me. We sway with time, we sway with everything.

The sway stays as we stand in her apartment. I let my home take me, and home takes me. Safe. We fall together. As a single unit into the bed. I whisper “I’m sorry.” As I tuck the hair behind her ear with my fingers. She pulls out the words again, that drain me of guilt and fill me with that god honest love.

I love the poetry of her body, to read it over and over is my goal. The understated elegant lines, the wit of the soft to firm color palette. Blurs imagination and reality. Sometimes I just need a word or two to get by. Other occasions I crave nothing more than to read it up and down. The night is what is as I read her in the dark with delicate fingers. To read everything over and over, up and down.