EDINBURGH, 2005
You found me sloshed against the phone cord
In narrow halting fluorescence
And brushed the biscuit crumbs from my face.
I hugged your avian frame, too light so I picked it up.
I will not break your bones.
Brittle like my grandmother’s, but still warm.
We caved up in the twin bed with plastic cider bottles
And sniffled head-to-toe.
I’m sorry you are always here when I am broken.
Venturing out at midnight
For a walkabout in embassy gardens
Some teenagers slowed their van,
Pelting warm bananas at us,
Tepid fruit embedded in soft velvet.
I’m sure that there were castles, and bagpipes,
But I can only feel the pavement on our sneakers
As we chased the vandals and laughed,
Hollow and delirious.