We live on street corners and back alleys
pressing our faces against pastry laden store front windows.
We hear hawkers and hot doggers calling in the street,
but all we can do is stare and wonder.

I can't pretend very well, and
turning my eyes away when I think something that I shouldn't say
I disconnect from honesty for your sake, and
shuffle back.

Before and behind trailing blood, and
following a bloody trail I feel again a warm hand upon my shoulder.
Strangers give me drink and call it life's blood, and bread
body.

Now I see your face for the first time
although I've long known you by reputation.
Ragged, wretched, beaten, beautiful. My eyes
fill up with tears.