of my, and your poetry.
Remember the first time we met
across the bar.
We drove the same car,
yours was older,
open windows for
stale cigarette smoke
and the joke, that it was better that way
since the air outside was fresher in any case.
short hair, long hair,
black hair, blonde hair.
I remember the room next to the kitchen
and the huntsman spiders making a mess of
I remember that first walk in the rain,
with the storm water sloshing around our ankles
when we slipped
the overcrowded sidewalks in our dollar store ponchos,
The bread shop,
our salvation after hours of walking, and losing our way.
I remember being lost,
but never feeling lost