NUMBER ME HOMO

non American, on a lonely day…

we had lost touch,
even though we touched briefly—
then remised.

along a barren wall,
forsaken,
by only those who passed by.

no longer Berlin.

we fell short of the dollar,
while picking up pennies.

pants down around our ankles:
it was raining.

you were smiling,
whistling through your teeth…

lies and truth thrust-ed

and you could not stop saying:

“I’ll never be the same.”

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