I met her in New Orleans.
Carrying luggage and sins,
I called out to her, a quiet hello.
She shot me an unfamiliar look,
yet I felt it was one I did know.
Maybe I saw it once or twice,
on a moonless night, long ago.

And as she did approach,
the street was overtook,
by her presence; so strong.
Though years had passed,
and memories did come and go,
since we last did meet,
we felt that love from long ago.

We spoke until the Sun did set,
everything from there felt preset,
as if Shakespeare himself,
wrote me as Romeo,
and her as my lovely Juliet.
Lovers from long ago,
with everything and nothing to know.