You were always the best at convincing me of my best,
confining me to the dictionary definition of “naïve,”
putting my picture to be read by the watchers.
The wind carries their words on and about
until the bricks in the alleyways are singing the gossip.
It took a while to realize the funny trick you had;
their lips move but it’s your voice they sing out,
reverberating off the architecture you pinned me down in,
so systematically inclining me to lose to your march,
devoted to the steady beat of your footsteps.
It took a while to realize what you could inflict upon
when I gave you the power to inflict it all on me.
I found it poetry when you met our mouths in misdirection
and flooded my lungs with your ocean.
I spent too long inhaling,
turning drowning water into your sweet wine.
( ❤ Mitch)