She was a small town, swollen with life.
A miniature seed spread wide in the palm of her hand.
There is no place I'd rather be than here.
Her face motioning a smile. Flat eyebrows.
She opened her hand sharing a piece of her town with me.
This small town rooted in the palm of her hand.
A commotion coming loud from the center of her palm.
Mid-traffic jams in steady motion.
She promised that it wouldn't last long, this commotion.
That everyone travels at one time or another.
That she stumbled across this place and never left.
Leaving it just the way it was.
Allowing the tourist to take as many pictures as they'd like.
This small town covered with music and lights.
She motioned the band to play something mellow.
This small town of hers, welcoming me to sit closer and listen.
Motioning them to play something a bit slower.
Long tones of rhythm and blues.
This was how she was.
The lights dimming a bit lower in her eye.
I saw people gather at tables, taking their seat to watch the band.
The pupils of her eyes wide and full.
Comfortable in their skin.
This was her perception.
Of course I on the outside still I heard the sound.
Coming to a complete stop, I grasped her hand tighter.
Holding on to every moment fearing that it would end.
The instruments, the vocals of long tones played by steady fingers, paused lips.
We wandered in The parking lot of open hands.
Hearing the music, walking somewhere where it wasn't so crowded.
We witnessed a wedding. The coming of grins coming together closed mouth.
Actions spoke louder in the reassurance of promise.
She wouldn't have it any other way. 
Promising the town in a night of closed hands.
She too stood on the outside.
Waiting on the bridge to lower, crossing over to my side of town