The beauty of your presence makes me feel things I am so afraid to feel, for your love burns me even as it heals me, searing my scars formed so long ago.
In truth, the San Francisco that’s home to me exists in the wild spaces untouched by the glittering revolutions and callous transformations its undergone.
The last communist I knew was my professor, an Italian from Calabria, who invited us
over for chess. He gulped wine and crawled around his kitchen floor.