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.