There are three or four
seconds between the
clicks of broken crankset
on the latest nights laced
with adjacent luminosities
and surreptitious glances
and back of hand touch.
Late lake lit low on warm
weekend afternoons with
goosebump breeze and
words on platforms and
palms that touch hips
and waists and fingers
traversing the length
of narrowing distance.
Notice the breathing and
furrowed brows, a focus
on sandcastles and houses
made of cards, the biggest
problems are no more easily
solved by forgetting arched
backs, sharp breaths, toes
tingling, contented collapse.
Some sunshine mornings
yield just the right few
moments when arms and
legs entangle and you
bring your lips to mine.