Second Date

Kept warm, wrapped in butterflies beneath the stars, we met

along this new town's English boulevard of empty trees,

the glimmer of (hope) restaurant facades and TV-blue

a-glow upon her face, framed in fur.

A whole new realm of experience for me

at my whole new ripe old age of innocence;

we entered the bright, Turkish elegance and gave our coats

and I wondered what the menu would bring,

but cannot read it; more interested in her brown eyes,

- (and the marble bar and the rose-adorned wall

and the egg-chair for Instagramming) -

and her eyes, and her eyes, don't glare -

self-consciously aware that I'm now staring

at her hair - the menu, the squiggles on the menu -

and stop. The menu resolved and we ordered.

Her face resolved from the sum of each separately beautiful part

and we talked.

First Date

There she walked up; the unknown future

in hoody and gym leggings, easing my nerves

in her smile and embracing my confidence

in her arms as though I had any at all.

There we walked up; the winding Malverns

in our conjoining footsteps, paths meeting

in the warm breaths of our lives, pausing on bends

in our metronomic panting and sympathetic smiles.

There I walked up; the Beacon rising its maps

in my overthinking, overstimulated mind, tracing paths

in my palm back down towards where feet meet ground;

in time my feet found that ground.