The Things That You Are

A black cat sliding

through the slick grass

of my awful garden,

all yellow eyes

and symbolism.

 

Hope.

Champagne in a Mykonos bar.

The moon broken

on the midnight sea.

Dancing.

 

A message.

A swoon shaking in my pocket.

 

An avatar.

Magnets.

 

Dying each time we speak

until you reply.

 

The late summer dusk

with half the sky

still pale gold,

deep blue darkness behind

and daylight

falling away

beneath.

Streetlights’ intense brightness

punching holes;

foregrounded.

 

Being held in each other’s arms,

oblivious to the music.

 

Waking

in the tender morning,

your leg imperfectly

aligned with mine,

but not moving.

Wanting.

Touch.

Watching your shoulders.

Your beautiful skin and back.

 

Breath.

 

Talking ridiculously for hours;

not our A-game,

but still wonderful.

 

Photos.

 

You.

 

A double rainbow.