Even today I feel the breeze seeping through the open window
above her bed, scented with the stark perfume of a city we cannot see from that
point of view, yet know is there, feel it as we embrace each other, its rhythms
swaying the way we sway as we sway together, the flow of a river we also cannot
see, stirring the flow of our blood, our bodies, the in and out of tides we
generate as we come together, this window, this breeze, these bodies colliding,
part of a memory I keep locked up inside, taking out to examine or caress at my
most lonely moments, feeling the city quake inside us at that moment when we
can’t stop the inevitable flow of my river into her river, and the deep signs
of a city that is inside and outside us at the same time.
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