Gorgeous, but exacting. Admired for your self-sufficiency. Full of lightning storms and breezy conversation by turn. Hot by any standard—almost sweltering. By turns garish and endearing. Likes to adorn self with neon and glitter in the night. Never sleeps. Smells like my grandmother might still be alive. Tastes even better. One of the least violent people I know. Holds me like
home, home, home.
A child. Reads too much. Too anxious to leave.
Too eager to regret.
I only truly once saw you. You tilted your face up to meet me but
by then you were just a cartographer’s dream. A window seat is
not a keepsake. The stale cabin air was harder to breathe than
on your stillest afternoon. I’m not sure escape
was not a mistake.