faces

FACES

Jonathan Aprea

Meeting people in the backyard of a party is fun.

Released from the atmosphere, we kind of fall

towards earth to land and fold the parachute balled

inside our arms into its compartment, the sun

is dead and gone, the stars hide within the light

from the city’s veil we stand beneath in the yard

beside some blackened citronella candles and charred

grate of a broken weber grill, and begin to get quite

drunk. This is the part, at last, where we all need

each other, where we talk about whatever we can, the day

is gone, we can’t see constellations. Our hearts bleed

for what we find in each other’s heads, it has to stay

that way, beautifully, we can’t take it. The sun has set.

We fell out of the stars. It’s in us too, it’s just we forget.