Street Corner

At the intersection of the busy and
very infrequent, where bike riders
would pass without helmets and
walkers would leisurely enjoy the
day amidst the hubble and bubble
of the downtown city; a place near
small commerce and residential with
patches of snow scattered on the
ground, and where I asked if I could
kiss you, on the corner of centennial
mall in the early hours of a morning
in late February. A corner for business
folk to pass by as they venture out of
the office for lunch to stop and gather
their favorite greasy delight, and where
drunks are stumbling to their cars or
someone’s car or just plain stumbling
around but with a purpose they are
telling themselves; where you said
yes, and I hadn’t even a moment to
gather a blush on my cheeks as I
kissed you, and thank goodness
I was leaning into you because my
knees gave way, and I would have
been kissing the ground instead. It is
a place scattered in the butts of lone
cigarettes, and pop cans, beer cans,
beer bottles, wrappers, gum and debris;
a place where most walk by and fail to
notice the sun, the breeze, the call of
the birds hovering in the distance, or
the laughter of the pedestrians as they
continue moving, never quite stopping
until they can whisper a complaint of
their busy lives in the comfort of their
own home. It’s an intersection of the
busy and the intermittent, and I can no
longer tell which one we are anymore.

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