Like olive oil and vinegar, we swirled.  
Close but now remaining uncombined.

When my eyes shut,
yours opened.

The sun set, and you thought of me.
The sun rose, and I thought of you.
But neither of us dared to shake the bottles again once more.

We once moved in fluid motion.
We were near,
then changed course.

𝐴𝑛 𝑎𝑐𝑐𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑦𝑒𝑑
𝐼𝑛𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑛 𝑠𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑

A memory of a sweet tarantella dance duo

Stepping clockwise
Then counterclockwise.

Looping, skipping,
dripping, flipping,
tossing, turning.

Eventually spinning with a joy
bordered on pain.

I do recall an emulsifier.
(A time we stirred)
The moment the vibrations
𝑆𝑇𝑂𝑃𝑃𝐸𝐷

In perfect unison…

In that moment a sudden hold.

For.
one.
trembling.
second.

The precious oil
was genuine.

The steps slowly continued.
And our eyes locked on one another.

There was a chance to bridge.
A chance to drift with the stirs.  
To find beauty not in stillness,
but in the motion itself.
In the quiet chemistry
Of adding additions;
Molecules bearing both
hydrophilic and hydrophobic ends.

𝑊ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑎𝑚𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑒 𝑔𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑎 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙 𝑠𝑙𝑎𝑝.

We took our seats.
At different checker patterned tables.

I take one more bite of bread.
A final taste
before dabbing my lips.

All that can be done now is to add salt
…to cut the acid…

And to realize that some molecules
are only meant to float in suspension.
Never meant to truly bond.

-AK

You can keep Manhattan
And all its yellow flashing lights,
The drunken piggybacks, those freezing nights.
Where our laughter poured out on the side of the street.
Where taxis rushed past, and the steam kissed our feet.
A place where staircases swirled with time,
And like Escher, the rules didn’t align.

Take Central Park where you zipped up my leather;
Your fingers trembling, but not from the weather.
The kisses and the closeness that came right after,
But now those thoughts - they ache, not laughter.


Staring on the subway, we ignored our fate.
You can keep 38th and 6th Avenue’s weight.
Resting our heads on one another as the skyline flew.
Now I need some clouds that will soften my view.
I’ll give way now to the valley sky,

Where mountains lean close and the hills roll by.
Because the memory of Manhattan beats loud in my chest.
And I…
I just really need to rest.
There are oak trees here, oh they are wide and they are true.

And though I’m sometimes blue without you.
You can keep the memory of Manhattan,
Will you do that for me?
Keep it in your pocket, the white shirt with the bee.
So that I don’t hold onto the glimmer of the past.
You can keep Manhattan.
I’ll take the green lights, the green hills,
The rising sun and the sweet stillness that lasts