I broke my nose last night on the last remnants of a wall that my ancestors constructed.
My ancestors thought that they were right, when they thought of prison and the purpose of incarceration.
My ancestors were not right and have only left me with a distorted image of who we are. And where we are.
Water drips from taps in bars of men who drink their Schnapps with worrying ease, while women look at mirrors.
And do they see the faithful man by their side, or the treacherous husband directly behind, pendulum hips?
Your lips remind me of stones I once saw in a coral jigsaw off the Cuban coast. Like you, the sea gave me its stones.
And I swam into the ocean with only one objective, navigation, one direction. To break my nose on the walls of my prison.
And the whirlpool hit and I woke in a fit to find that my bed was half-empty.
You were there in my bed, but where was I? Breaking my nose on the walls of the prison that my ancestors wrongfully created for their children, the bastards of a society that forgot, despite incessant attempts to remember.