by Benjamin Nardolilli

Only With Myself

It was the priest who brought us together,
We both laughed at him,
When we went to the water without his cross
And when we walked back to the hotel
To rest without reading his Bible.

In the morning I woke
And nestled up to you, momma bird,
You hit me, I hit you,
Until we were hungry broken branches
And had to eat breakfast.

The airport above the smog,
We came there with everything we brought,
After wailing in life with each other,
I envied the detectors and detectives,
They were close to you with better sight.

Benjamin Nardolilli is a twenty-six year old writer currently living in Arlington, Virginia. His work has appeared in Perigee Magazine, Red Fez, One Ghana One Voice, Caper Literary Journal, Quail Bell Magazine, Elimae, Super Arrow, Grey Sparrow Journal, Pear Noir, Rabbit Catastrophe Review, and Yes Poetry. Recently, his chapbook Common Symptoms of an Enduring Chill Explained, was published by Folded Word Press. He maintain a blog at and is looking to publish his first novel.

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