You said you wanted to love me in sepia
Before we’d even learned how to kiss in color
Or how to crucify.
The photo of us from a year later
(snapped by a passing Angel)
the one you keep in your wallet to pull out on special occasions –
when the 1 train is empty at 2am, when the indomie is taking too long to boil –
you think is already tinged sienna, a little.
Just like the holy evenings your grandfather read to you from Milton
or the glint of your three-minute Marlboros.