Dance Floor Kisses

Quite certain that this was not me… but the thought is romantic

Nov 12 – Justin from PA visiting DC (S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y – night) – w4m

It reminds me of a few long evenings enjoying nameless company- the curly haired girl in Montreal, the girl with the dark eyes in London, the Brazilian traveling alone in Barcelona, the quiet girl on army break in Tel Aviv-Yafo, the painter who quoted Rilke, the girl with soft lips in Philadelphia…

The fleeting, five-hour relationships. The what-ifs and never wills. The times when our youthful vigor had us quoting Nietzsche and keeping nocturnal hours. And it was in those five-hours that anything seemed possible and everything right; that first impression touched last impression with the subtle sadness of a goodbye kiss. The futile attempts of bodies trying to prolong their last touch and the strange content in the loneliness that follows immediately after- where the mind strains to hold on to what was and the body still numb from what will never be.

 

There were the roses in the rain

Don’t cut them, I pleaded

They won’t last, she said

But they’re so beautiful where they are

Agh, we were all beautiful once, she said

and cut them and gave them to me in my hand

 

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