beverly’s pink saturday
there was something left over from our yesterday… i thought it may have something to do with you and what you said. something i didn’t see but you did. unexpected, underneath rippling wet splash
and here now mingling with today there’s that word, interchangeable… later what you saw when you seen the way we wrapped around the noon hour. do you always rise up early or only when the light wakes you?
shall we persist in the tongue barrier of written notes? it would be much more meaningful if we gathered our sources of limitless language and continued meeting at the noon hour…a few dusty books on your side and a tattered dog-eared page left open on mine
a single sharing of duplicated thought or the invisible lust, plurality of words; listening, we heard the song she wrote in an afterthought of possibilities. something about desire, and finding a way
we can live in kismet now, and later in reminiscing we’ll recall a lifetime of crossing back and forth, only the tide and movement of the moon directing the currency of departure and arrival