How I Fell
I could easily say it happened the first time we met, as we talked by
the water until our teeth chattered. You didn’t kiss me goodnight
because you consciously elected to leave your representative at home
(arguably this is the sole reason I agreed to meet you the next day at
a hotel without my mandatory chaperone).
Weeks later we made plans to migrate south but didn’t follow through;
instead we attended a sold-out rock concert. The audience was dazzled
by the show, including the bassist, who momentarily stepped out of the
to flash us an endearing thumbs-up with one hand
while he picked up his jaw up from the platform with the other.
The thrill of feeling the wind in our hair heightened the rush as we
sped home over the Brooklyn Bridge while the gas needle flirted with E
but not before you stopped the car at the busiest intersection on the
West Side Highway
only long enough to lay your head in my lap and whisper
that the reason you find me beautiful is because I have no idea just
how beautiful I really am.
We wrote poetry on the walls with permanent markers,
fed my sister champagne out of a gold studded high-top sneaker until
she was forced to smile,
danced on the coffee table to tribal music while the neighbors slept,
and welcomed the New Year in our bathrobes while eating Sushi out of
plastic take-out containers.
But it was the day we abandoned technology for seven straight daytime
hours and took our first long walk
through each other’s minds
that I realized I entered an alternate realm devoid of gravity.
You snored softly in my arms later that night and I smiled
as I inhaled your musty breath, savored its sweetness, and looked up
at the world around me.
Honorable Mention, EOL Poetry Contest 2011-2012