It was one of those nights.

A night like just ripe strawberries
with a sprinkle of unneeded sugar melting over the top;
the knowledge that eating these berries would taste as sweet as kissing the person they’re shared with.
Maybe even sweeter.

A night just the side of warm
where a glimmer-sheen of sweat hangs onto the places between elbows and knees;
shirt backs stick to lower ones - but it smells so good outside, like summer
even though it was only May.

A night that held two years ago against two years from now
and came up without wanting;
past was memory, future was possibility,
everything in the middle was one of those nights.

Beautiful between midnight
and lonely again by four in the morning.