drunken manifesto

I inhaled

the air that used to be your breath

and you flashed before my eyes

the way your beard tickled my shoulder

how you breathed against my skin

sensitive to you

resistent to anyone else

our bodies entangled in the white linen sheets

and I remembered how I cried

in green satin chairs

mourning our death

how I celebrated my rebirth months after you left me

alone in an empty house

that was never home

I thought of my flat in new york

and how I smoked with you in mind

the facettes in which we used to mask

our desire

our hopes

the undeniably tension

we never fully gave into

and I exhaled

it's september first again

please tell me

how it's been years

and now we're back

in the midst of july