As if we’re the first two brushstrokes.
As if our hands
together clasped emerging out of serene water
everything. Spending our time
chasing light in shadow
acting nonchalant about it.

From her window we saw
headlights moving up and
down the city. Their light
against the glass watercolored
by raindrops.
I remember how the curtains held her.

If I could peel just the flowers
off her wallpaper, suspend
them over us in midair and
have them come to life––
In the heat of it all, I’d let them
fall in slow motion.