Sunday Square

It was autumn, the sun
tiptoeing
behind
the
horizon
when you kissed me in Sunday Square.

The spectral glow of twilight
collided against my legs.
You pulled me into your arms and your
pea coat smelled the way your lips taste;
tobacco and peppermint.
Your breath was warm as it escaped your mouth,
glancing my cheek.

A child looked on from a cafe table with unacquainted eyes that did not yet know of such pink and perpetual longing. The man that hawks fresh fruit was packing up his booth, and the cerise stain of the raspberries that your bought from him still lingered on our shivering lips.

Lovers stepped lightly
into amber-lit bars.
Lovers just like us,
holding on so tenaciously to each other,
afraid that these moments might
rush away
with every
peal
of the
cathedral
bells.

Phantasmagoria

I dreamed that I left you waiting by my
whiskey-kissed glass,
its bitter tears condensing onto the cracking windowsill.

You heard my feet alight against the ground
while I ran through
thistle grass and verbena.
They kept the time of your slow and patient heartbeat.
Along the way

I discovered a continent
I discovered an ocean
I discovered you organically twisted into all of these things.

And against a stone wall
that marches through a hayfield,
I read your secret letters
stuck between the rocks. Before I could breathe they
took flight like a cloud of birds

And you took my heart with them.

hurricane

You're the finest thing that I've done,
the hurricane I'll never outrun
I could wait around for the dust to still,
but I don't believe that it ever will.