For Adam

This initially started out as a joke when a friend of mine told me to write a piece pertaining to a simple gesture he did

We don’t love in centuries anymore
Just dumps of vacant hearts waiting to be flushed of water
Never knowing what love is- outside heart beats -flustered words -and blank stares undressing our stories

I’m a woman of many languages
He only knows one
How to be human
Extending left arm like the vessels he once poured rebirth into
Like the death of his past love waiting for her to be born again

He’s a man of many
How to open doors
Cater to freedom
He’s a tired marching bank
Compositions kept under the ring of his retina
Waiting to be released from the lens sack
He knows that simple gestures change lives-holding the door is just one of them