You’ve been on my mind
constantly. Like a new birth?
A welcoming back into society?
Daydreaming about the weather?
We have chemistry.
Betwixt & between, we, drifting to this place,
a landing—quiet, puzzling—on an act.
How long will this liminal last?
This charming grip. The grabbing and the grabber.
A golden smile—a hook
of dreams; a stampede of madmen;
a ship of sorts—a helipad. I twiddle the stern, captain-
like, transitioning, the minutes diminishing
(forever
strange, and stranger still).
Moments… then a breaching; a clear arrangement;
an eerie quiet; jonquil bulbs burst
then wilt—stem, no root—Our rite of passage.
I cross a threshold, upward.