Damn that smirk and those eyebrows too. And her hair all up and wayward screaming look at me. Remember me. Like the mole on her neck. The queen of a constellation. She says kiss me first. And you do. And then her collar bone too so full of grace. The picture of symmetry. And her nose it penetrates. Insists upon the nape of your neck. And you breath each other in. Every dewy drop of Black and Jewish skin. And then you go crazy. In her eyes you see that she’s not even there. That the truest thing about her is that shadow and the faraway stare. Toward a world you’ll never understand. Because she doesn’t know she’s there. And don’t you go trying to get it either. Don’t you fucking dare because we are not ready yet.
My senior year of high school I was beat out for best dressed by my friend Renato. I know that because I was in yearbook and I saw the votes. He deserved it too. At any given time in the history of our friendship, which is going on thirteen years now, I’ve never known him to be anything less than spiffy, snazzy and sharp. Boy is fashionable. And he has a blog to prove it. Do indulge. GallerydiRenato.com