Yard Sale of Thoughts

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The first time I saw you
on the moving walkway
of the airport terminal,
us going opposite ways,
uniformed smile, an arrow,
me, a white hoodie windsock.
We both turned ’round.
Impossible to resist
a glimpse of goodness
several treadmills ahead.

The first time I felt your flesh,
backyard bbq, green trails of pine
matching the lime in your eyes.
Proud golden fur, laughter,
our tethered remembrances,
of a moving walkway,
a perfect runway in your gaze.

The first time I texted you,
my Spiderman, and I couldn’t stop
touching your intellect
with my witty fingertips,
even over speed bumps;
I longed to grasp your hips,
hear your quips, your inside tips.

The first time I kissed your lips,
red wine and planetary dips.
Forbidden sips of the best vintage
on deck, overlooking parking,
every day a new vine,
and the view of your face,
better than Marigot Bay.

The first time I lay with you,
I realized my sun had core,
and that rocket ships soar.
That Romeo and Juliet did right
to stake their lives on one night.
Oh, to have missed this flight,
worse than the dormancy of life
without true north.

© 2022 | K.F. Hartless

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