And it was all worth it- the blistering
toes and ankles, the sheen of sweat
veiling my skin, the untameable
flips of longer hair. My piloted sense
of authority twining my irrepressible
free spirit, that daunting, docile creature
twirling below an adopted look of astringency.
Seventy, ninety-odd bodies mashing
through, jonesing for the first breath of fresh air.
You passed to my left, your gaze flickering
across our paths, inches again- you sway so close to me-
and my eyes sought your summer's blue with some unfurled
awareness (proximity, seventh sense, the heart's
wanderings). I saw, you know.
I saw your first and second glances. The tripped-up
gentle whiplash of a moment passing too quickly,
a chance to impress an image into the curiousities
of your memory. One, two. Twice.
I smiled through both, wishing my mouth had a sense
to open on its own. And your beauty trailed me,
seeks me out several hours later. It compounds emotions
and mislabels wanderlust, because we both know and
because we both won't say.
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