Touched by a man
touched by the voice of a man
with heartbreak hands and
a voice like the sound of syrup
pooling slowly
at the base of a
jar.
A voice that filled the room around us
with the poetry of regret
and the effervescent joy of
imagined
love.

In that moment,
I saw God pulling back
the
veil.

The curl of our toes on the floorboards
tumbling down dark drug-dripped hallways
swaying and spinning
my hands shook with violence so
you held the bag in your
peaceful palm.

On the first night I loved you
we took off our clothes
and you gently led me to the shower,
a sexless ceremony,
and in an instant I
felt
alright.

(How did you know?)

I came upon you broken
a dozen years atop your age.
You taught me the timeless
and neatly arranged the stars,
pulling a blanket of dark
over an otherwise unremarkable Raleigh sky.

You were home to so many:
who had non,e
who needed one,
who missed one,
who had never had one yet.

On a quiet corner where
the Carolina Pine met the Oak,
there was always a porch light
and an open door

where everyone loved you honestly
and they were always glad
you
came.