In the Basement of A Cathedral

In the Basement of a Cathedral


He kissed him gently, lovingly,
his fingers running through his straight brown hair,
not caring that we were there, encouraged by our presence,
we sat on a lime green couch in the basement of a church,
we sat with mostly his friends, not yet mine, but lingering in the possibility.

The yellow walls cast contrast on their black hoodies,
the paint lent its glow to their dark hair,
complimenting his closed hazel eyes,
as we watched.

Looking on,
wanting what he has,
envying his ability to let another person in,
our friendship is as close as I’ve come to trusting another person.

One of his friends texts me,
like school girls we press the camera button on our phones,
we steal their image,
videos,
photos,
of a passion we desperately want.