It was flashes
and flashes.
The smoke still hazy,
I didn’t know it could last
that, that long.
Did you? I think you did.
It was blue eyes,
the blue, I remembered it darker.
But they were dunnock blue.
Holding contact was
the easy part.
It was wondering
and wondering how it would go.
How far it would go.
How high can I,
can we, take this?
It was fast, and slow;
the pacing set by you.
But I sat in the passenger seat
trying to make you laugh
so your foot would slip
at the stoplight.
It was thinking,
thinking to myself
“again again again?”
“could you do this,
again? you want to.”
It was pacing
and pacing and hoping that
you weren’t just one of the
seventeen mugs I’ve gleaned
from the thrift down the road.
My feet quickening towards them
in hopes that someone else wouldn’t get there first.
But then I always see one I like more,
and I’ve always been my own gleaned ceramic piece.
So I jumped.
And I haven’t hit the ground yet.
And I keep thinking I might feel
the swift crush, my muscles
tense and then softened.
But I am hitting pockets of dense air,
you put them there,
that keep slowing me down.
If I feel the weight of a branch
snapping from your shaky steps,
I’d grow another.
