squint The features on his face were shadowed so that my desire might be drawn at the end of each reaching grey. I only saw what i felt, modeled from my fingertips. What I felt was lost beautiful, where the beauty would quail into corners of conversation. He spoke with confused antics and awkward craving.
My sensitivity to the art of pauses, of breathing and caught noise began to twitch. A garbage bag filled with nervous longing. Just juvinile enough to throw out. I saw blocks of his face and played with my lip ring some more. They always fear what they want the most.
I tilted my head to the right, or maybe the left. I listened to tufts of his breath shed from set aside lips. I am drawn to the boys who dress up as men. He wore a tie and clung to it like a suicide would grasp his noose. I would laugh and call it cute, but they never want to hear it that way. I was sick of giving them enough to run away with.
So he swallowed grimly. I looked straight into him, scanned for weakness. Handcuffs should be dangling from my belt. Character sketch, profiled touch and sound. Maybe free, but its hard for him to run covered in chains and soaked in my wounds. If I would give him my pity, I might as well give him my life.
So I called him names, kissed his fingers, and walked away.

"what about goodbye?"

"that doesn't exist" I called back. he lit a cigarette as my footsteps froze the sidewalk.
what's it to you?
who go