He shouted
the music booming
smoke like tendrils around her face
tiny tremors marching beneath,
the same ones that led him to this place,
the ones that pointed to Her,
Her,
always Her.

Her,
                    the one beside the bar
Her,
                    the blue eyed specter with leather boots
Her,
                    the final note in the euphony known as Saturday night


                                           She shouted back
whites of eyes glowing against the black light,
his faint neon smile revealed,
tiny tremors pushing forward,
the same ones that brought her there,
the ones that brought him,
Him,
always Him.

Him,
                    the one muted by the music
Him,
                    the dark haired calamity with red adidas
Him,
                    the only one to hear the cacophony of night

              
                  They shouted
                             led by the echoes inside
                             into the street
                             tiny tremors beautified by the fresh air
                             the same ones that vibrate beneath
                             the ones that marched
                                                         ­          and pushed
                                                     and gazed through the window
                             the ones that lead always to her
                             the ones that always brings them close
Tiny tremors engulfing them
Them,
always Them.

He waited, as one should, for her to finish crying.
They saw Back to the Future 2 earlier,
Honestly, not that great if you ask me,
                 "Marty screams the whole **** movie"
he said folding the picnic mat,
lights turning on around them
leading bodies into parking lots
into chasis and roads
into her street and front porch
into a phrase that started with
"Listen..."
and ended with "I'm sorry"

She finished crying,
"I'm sorry" he said again, softly,
his hand reaching for hers
but there was no hand
no velvety skin to say goodbye
"I guess..." she started but stopped
He stood beside her
the grass filled with mosquitoes
trees sunk in the background as he sped away.

Behind him, dimming in the distance,
her figure with hands crossed
the figure of a woman who laughed
and cared,
and enjoyed silence
as she enjoyed Parks and Rec
the woman who didn't care
about his loudness
or his lectures on Star Wars
and Vonnegut
the woman who disappeared in the distance.