her lips taste of bubblegum
awkward standing in the snow
to our carefully patterned
podium inspired pause
she smells like morning
tossed in roses and waterfalls
polite and unbeknowing
off to business for the holiday
no precursors or method
striking and unavailable
ready for day's bravings
so prim and drove for recess
the smiles break slow
in the kind trail of unspoken
drop
stomachs clenched
memories washed
loss for translation;
and all we can muster
is assurance of our space.
i'll talk to you, tonight?
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