Of the Same Soul

Flushed and frothing in the late July heat of a slow motion Texas afternoon, I ventured a call home and found you there. Still of the same soul and still the same half of my whole. It took almost an hour to remind you how much we breathed when rust was new on the dog and kisses hung from trees like diamond tears. Remembering December in July, a pleasant diversion from this blistering heat. 3am Delaney Street and you with those matchbook blues. Every box you opened up was like a gift, and suddenly it was Christmas. I drank a toast to you and me and me and you and thought of Dutch and Parson Brown, dancing in our socks, a lamp shade and a windowpane, yet nothing left for posterity but this memory in July. And me wishing skies were not so high and cement didn't dry and that we could carve our initials in an evergreen Christmas tree.