He veers to the left when he walks
in and out of lives
up and down city streets.
His gait clumsy
and haphazard
bumping passersby
and knocking glasses off tables.
Slack jawed stares and
excited whispers;
unphased
unwavering
steady in his unsteadiness.
He meanders down alleyways;
breaking hearts
and preconceived notions about
what a vagabond should
or shouldn’t be.

You run your fingers across maps
Like you are caressing the cheek
of your dying lover
for the last time

I returned to the place
where I use to escape
from the pedestrian affairs
of life in suburbia.

Many nights spent
collapsed on the pavement
swapping humdrum stories
of teenage angst.

It was the end of a road
just north of town
with nothing but swampland
in two directions.

Far enough away
from the sprawl of the city
to understand quiet
without getting lost.

An abundance of stars
made us feel insignificant
and the freedom of isolation
gave us confidence and strength.

It was balanced and beautiful
like we were, back then,
just the right amount
of elation and confusion.

So then it was silly, I guess
for me to expect
that a place like that
would still be the same.

It's a strip mall now,
sleek and amalgamated
and the unkempt sawgrass
replaced with pigmented mulch.

Your windblown hair and
your windbound heart
inhabit a single memory.
Sad eyes in the rearview mirror
Pursed lips and perverted thoughts
Like how your hand resting on her thigh
should be resting on mine
instead.

They say when you lose a limb,
sometimes you can still feel it
even after it's gone
Maybe that's why I still feel your arm
wrapped around my waist

The armrest between us
feels dangerous.
Here I sit
separate
in my chair
safe
on my own.

The tension is thick
like the rim of your glasses
thick
like the lump in my throat.

I focus on not touching you
so much so, that I forget
about the no-man's land that is
the armrest.

Our fingers touch briefly.
It's an accident.

It's electric.

And our hands do a dance,
delicate and graceful.
A ballet of avoidance.

Ceasing movement,
content in our solitude,
A sigh of relief.
Of disappointment.

Then, a sudden attack.

You lace your fingers between my own
and gently squeeze my hand.

You don't look at me.
And I am grateful.

I want to dissolve
like the sugar
in my coffee.