the dance

Tomorrow, when the guests have departed,

the balloons deflated,

and the champagne de-fizzed,

you will sit alone

and contemplate how the years zipped.

But tonight, tomorrow is just a figment,

and with my hand in your sunworn hand,

we twirl round and round,

and I hope that you see:

I’m yours now more than ever,

our eyes, thunderstorm mirrors,

and your heart?

I carry it in my heart.

torn

houdini streets

It was one of those magical nights that only happen in New York, where impossible things edify themselves right before your eyes, and you pump your fist through an open taxi window and the warm breeze electrifies you from your feet up, and you realize with no small amount of wonder that you perhaps have never felt so alive as you do right now.

You ponder what it is that's making you feel this way. What it is floating amongst all the concrete and lights that could possibly bring so much animation to your soul. You're running late and the cabbie tells you how pretty you look, you smile and thank him, you think of those blue eyes that wait for you at the end of your journey tonight. The bluest eyes you've ever seen, the ones you saw only twice a year ago and not since, but that have somehow been emblazoned on the backs of your eyelids for 365 days and counting. Your lids flutter, and you realize you've stopped breathing. You instruct yourself to push all the air from your lungs and then to take a deep, passionate breath in. 

 

Breathe like he kissed you, you tell yourself. Slow, and with purpose.