a fine day in harlem

five hours can slink away so quietly, so easily that the click of the latch doesn't even make a sound

not like you would even have heard it above the beating of the drum and the wailing of the horn and the skip of your blood warmed just a little too much by the wine and the song and the smile and the game.

did you know it was a fine day in harlem? do you remember who was wearing white?

did someone promise to teach you?

did someone persuade you to believe them, to believe that somehow, someway maybe, just maybe it was possible to be different, just once?

and you knew you would live to regret it, somehow, someway. well, you suspected that, anyway.

the jury's not yet come home to roost over that one.

did someone miraculously appear with his head above water and all the right words and all the beauty and brightness you forgot could ever dare to look at you? and what did it take to make you look back? how long did it take you to notice the flush on his cheeks every time you smiled?

and you still can't bring yourself to be excited. you still aren't brave enough to believe.

the shortest five hours of my life.

smoke and honey.