We were together. I flew a helicopter. You were next to me.
There was trouble in a factory. I was doused with gasoline laying on cold concrete.
Big steel rippled doors. Everything was gray.
The men in the semi threatened to light me afire but i peeled off the flannel shirts.
I was ok. I struggled up. Were you there?
I landed the helicopter in the swimming pool missing the middle aged man in the white shirt and dark tie.  He was white, his hair his skin, his shirt, the pool light, the surrounding cement.
I was sitting on the ground. Cross-legged. A lady unseen but heard, sitting in a dark interior of a burgundy van was across form me, she asked if she could trust Bob. I said well i do know he has one hell of an assistant and laughed looking away, towards the sky. She knew what I meant.  The truth about my job came out. My secret was known. It felt dangerous. I didn't know who would react. I was in a crowd of suited frocked well to do-ers. I was in a bar talking about beer and blood types and making unique DNA drinks.  Red dots and circles on milky white screens, back-lit, pin stripes.
You took a letter to the mailbox. I saw you from an upstairs window. The road was tree lined, trees without leaves, but pleasant.
You were stopped on a bike in a bird head mask looking angularly at the sky and you wrote in your journal that you had thought about sex all weekend.  I had done the same. I was happy, momentarily happy.
I knew I would love you for a long time. I was sad but well rested. I see you on your bike looking skyward like a bird.
I feel amorous.
Afraid to be happy.