We are revolutionaries

before smoking the natural herb inside the cigar brown paper.

She more so than I with her social activism, frontline rallies, and poetry workshops

I with my beliefs and philosophies. We are lovers before strong inhales birth infectious coughs.

Intelligent, independent and in-love before our eyes squint and tear inside the suffocating climate of revolution - before our fingers become hot - too close to the receding blazoned circle.                                                           

Ashes of contentment are collected and discarded while the smell of burnt grass lingers � For now we are empowered to take a personal revolution in the streets.

Comedy seems to be the world�s theme as we sit across a thin table in a small tin diner to diminish the feeling of starvation � I notice a frown of paranoia above her eyes perplex at the odd stares surrounding our space. I reach over to wipe the wrinkles playing around her brow away then lean in to kiss her discreetly, painful noises betray the throats of otherwise boring people and we laugh with our mouths mashed and foreheads bouncing gently together. We pull away laughing inconsolably gazing unashamed in each other�s eyes. Knowing our next dining experience will be in the sole company of ourselves better than this - ten times.

Watching them examine us � to them we are exotic birds perched and ready to shit all over decorum. Our affection becomes over exaggerated as we realize to them our revolution is more quixotic than a worthy stance. We stand after we fill our selves�paying the bill�leaving a tip that we are normal, just a lil high and in-love.

High

off

love

they had to choke down and swallow for over an hour�for as long as we could stand the trite chore of force-feeding. We feel vindicated knowing revolution is supreme. The bold feelings of the mind alter, fades as the hour passes. At the exit we feel a harsh wind from an invisible boot knocking us on the outside once again. We clasp hands in defensive solidarity without the laughter this time. Determined to march through the crude looks and disgusted snorts from full metal combat on all sides. With fervor we stare back at the roving eyes convinced that revolution is the only choice.

The only choice�

Her hand begins to lose its grip�when white foamy spit falls in our path�I notice� so we stop at the nearest streetlight�to share a kiss in the spotlight passionate enough to invoke the conquering thought, "Just as long as I have you". Hate and ignorance die metaphysically. We enter home�peaceful space�our revolution was not televised but it was seen and between us that is enough for now.