Tickets Sold Out

And I will never forget the morning we sat in the coffee shop

with the rain slipping down the window panes beside us

paying the ticket taker all our extra cash for front row seats

to the Dance of Life that was our breakfast laid out on the table


steaming.


I can still smell the perfect Kenya beans with the smoke

waltzing away effortlessly. The slight pirouette of crumbs

skipping down my collar into my lap with the slightest brush.

I remember your tea doing the tango with sugar and cream

as you delicately stirred your concoction. You the scientist and I


the poetess.


I will never forget that Sunday morning down the street

waiting patiently for the grey skies to drift away (secretly hoping

that they'd forget how to run). That was the first time

you showed me off to the world with kisses on the nose

and whispered words tickling the sides of my face -

it was the morning I realized that we were not falling.


It was love.