and.then.we

(for my michelle - who does not exist yet)
-----

tomorrow when i tell the story of election night 2008 to the man who asks "what did you do when they announced the winner?," i want to tell him about how good you smelled when we hugged. how soft your lips were when we kissed.

i want to remember my walking back in differently.
i want to remember me walking in - attempting to begin discourse on african-americans and voting, and you'd say something like: "do we need to discuss this now?"

i want to remember you sitting next to me on the bed - kissing my neck and bindly finding that spot on my earlobe, and i'd say: "you think we should hit the streets and celebrate with the people?"

i want to remember you - hair undone - sweat pants and sneakers - white t-shirt and cereal box wristband that once belonged to your cousin - kissing me. between lip-to-skin sounds you'd tell me: "can't we forget about the election? let us put down the number two pencils and council member at large fliers and break some shit."

and i call you counter-revolutionary.

you counter: "let us occupy the democratic headquarters and love each other. let our backs press hard against barack's face plastered on walls behind barbed wire fences. grab as much flesh on my back as you can and hold it. press me equally as close to you and love me as though the election depended on it. love me like this night may not survive the cheers and bottle popping."

and then we turn off the television - and loved as though the love we made would bring about change.