Often time we hear things
phantom, What did you say?
Nothing.

A whispering skyline
says, hold me close; I feel
cold. It is spring;

ice melted, but still
we feel the Winter’s
arms around us. And so,
we let this moment

unfold, speak the story
that it is supposed to tell
like prophecies written

on tabloids. Yes, we are
only following the wind’s
directions to hold
each other close.

We hear the leaves’ ruckus,
shaking branches as if feeling
the rush of blood of a romantic
scene in a movie. We never saw this
coming.

I held you tight, and with that,
we first heard friction and closeness

speak the words we’ve aching
to hear from each other. Dulcet,

like an ice cream melting, kissing
the pavement.