Tomasz Jedrowski

Some things cannot be erased through silence.

It struck me how little my name meant to me, how absurd it was in its attempt to contain me.

I had found my place on your sandstone body—between your thighs and the mounds of your nipples, in the cave of your armpits. The geography of you was suddenly as clear as that of the city, skin warmed like the bricks of the tenement houses, the lines of your body like the straight and unbroken lines of the avenues, of the tram tracks and the stiff metal barriers that threw crisscrossed shadows onto the streets.