A Saturday in Philly

I feel like writing again
because the train was swaying
like the branches of a dogwood
come spring.
& instead of butterflies
petals fell each time my hip
hit yours.

I want to talk about flushed cheeks
& plush felt & gripping your sleeve
& how we became one with the city’s
chilly streets & I’m not ready
for it to be warmer just yet
if winter means I get to hold
you closer.

you lost me on purpose
between murals of war
and the garb of the Xi Xia dynasty.
Moments later you would grab me from behind
& have my body sink like a sigh
against yours.

I want to remember the way
you smiled at the swords
& how you kept puckering your lips
to kiss me.
We strolled toward lunch
& you told me how we could come back in spring.
& now I’m ready for the chill to cease
and flowers to creep
up from the frost,
if it means I’ll be riding the train
with my head on your shoulder
& the warmth breaking through
is a little bit closer.

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