As you can see, it was raining when I stepped outside,

puddles gathered in potholes and stairsteps became slippery,

you looked at me, as if to say, I couldn’t; shouldn’t; ought not to hide,

I stood beside myself, one hand shielding my eyes, heart felt quivery,

arm subsided limply against my torso; bright white, cloud hampered light found me squinting,

peering toward the horizon, but finding only fog and stately sky scrapers,

a fifty seven chevy, on her windshield, waterdroplets glinting,

oil refracting rainbows on the asphault; yellowed and soggy newspapers,

damned if I had an umbrella; tried to shield you from the drizzle with my coat,

said I’d walk you home, barely knew your name in those days,

pictured us two in the middle of the road; oars in hand, standing in a boat,

ignoring signs and lights; red ones and one-ways,

you with your cape in hand, blue and velvety felt,

me and my fedora soaked to the scalp; wondering if that cap had a purpose,

your eyes glimpsing both of my thumbs tucked behind my belt,

irises asking why they clasped there; when I could have held you close,

wasn’t one for verbosity, and motions made in vain,

nervous to the core in your sight, grey was chasing night,

hard to breathe again for me, wheezing as I’d strain,

led you to your portico; not a moth in sight,

nothing weary, nothing feigned,

nothing ventured, nothing gained,

leaned abruptly stole a kiss,

never quite felt just like this,

held your hand,

could barely stand,

shock residing,

rosy hues,

no more hiding,

subtle cues.


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