The night turns into the city
and the city turns into the mind
and the breeze dances through your hair,

but the flickering lights come into
focus of glowing restaurants strung
through the street woven
between dripping sidewalks where
the umbrellas sway shadowing
silhouettes of sculpted faces
that never stop and never progress
because no matter the day, we tend towards
remaking parts of it––what we feel
or do, or what we see––

but the droplets fall with silver triumph slipping
through the midnight sky
upon my dry, calloused hands,
and upon your soft, glowing face,

but no, the atmosphere
grumbles and my eyes
bolt to the sky smoldering jet
black and down falls a midnight
thread lacing my lips ears and eyes tightly and
I feel silence as the dot dot dot
of a sentence but the
pitter patter pit pat ice cold droplets
awake my senses once more
to see my breath intertwining with yours,
and I know everything,
is going to be the same,
as the glow of your delicate presence.

I arise two feet cut
cut into pavement
as warm blue and purple light
slur past me and into your eyes
and I look into my palm
where the diamond waits patiently
in the warmth of my trembling hand
and I take the ring
so pleased it had not been crushed
by the mightiness of all else that goes on,
and I give you,
the sentence,
inside.