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

spotlight

 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.

 

— Lisa Cappiello 

Honorable Mention, EOL Poetry Contest 2011-2012