The One Where I Met You

Wet streets, like wet streets after rain hitting pavement like the slacking of vexed heels before the squabble of sun battling cloud, sun to win. Rapid transit, like transience, like de-coherence with the fade of transition. Which one? Which one? This is much like how the dance goes, your eyes to my skin, to my lips. In multitudes of shades just like the weather, touching beyond it- physicality. Remember. It’s glitter, glitter hard to sweep away. Everything echoes, how long? And will it forever? And does forever stand quiet as shadow juxtaposed beside forgotten dreams that fade away to nothing? Like yin to the yang of expedited packages full of things we don’t remember ordering. Discarded knick knacks, antithesis of you. Because I can imagine with faultless precision the feel of your breath on my cheek, the taste of your kiss. a thing going something like salt of the sea entwined with sweetness and heat. I was here. You were there beside me squeezing my small hand on the beach, while I thought of ways I’d start a poem about you. With a hidden innuendo like wet streets folded up into a reference to the city I love. The one where I met you.