The Pavement Remembers Want
What the pavement remembers about want
Lamplight splits itself between them—
his back, her bouquet, the space
where decision hasn’t hardened yet.
Rain makes the cobblestones honest:
every surface becomes mirror, becomes
what it reflects. The flowers
are already dying. She holds them
like a argument for something.
Behind him, the city offers
its wet mouth of windows, open.
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