She was quick to laugh and eager to smile
and moved like wind swept grass;
brushed by a casual force she didn’t know to define.
And one I didn’t care to.
She clutched my interest and held it
with her gentle touch, her onyx hair,
her harlequin sincerity.
She moves me and I fall.
Trafalgar Square vibrates with the cold
as we weave through the veins of London.
Her hands are cold, my hands are warm
which allow me to feel my presence.
I am kinetic and living, alive and well.
A celebration of culture transforms the day to a
myriad of colors, smells and sounds.
A day waits to be experienced, the night promises family.
My present is eager for them both as she pulls my
fingers through the sea of the day, leading me there.
We laugh with a friend and laugh some more.
We share stories and eat,
ask questions and drink,
warm to our own apprehensions and miss the sun release the night.
The underground rattled with the tremors of its cars.
She stood flush against the glass and balanced herself with
the lazing of my arm.
We sailed through darkness, home.