Andrius.
That was his name, and the first crime I committed
I watched him, thought of him, slept at night with his pulse between my lungs
I felt vibratos when we looked
Songs when we touched
Euphoria when we kissed
A long, sweet kiss, hidden behind layers of curtains, decades of hate
I wrote his name in my willful script, over and over again, so I would never forget the rhythm of him
He was the stroke of my spine, the reassurance of my breath
I caught him unaware, unseen
The same way they caught me
Because they saw
The way we looked
The way we touched
The way we kissed, long and hard
They watched us for months
They hurt us for much longer
YOU ARE READING
We Can Still Dance
PoetryIn this world, there are painters and writers, teachers and philosophers. Theorists and dancers. People. Complex, enigmatic, people like you and me. People with stories. This book is a collection of poems, based on events experienced by anyone an...
