In my head I’m still standing on that curb, night time in May, and my lips on your lips, airplanes racing overhead, taller than you for once, your feet in that gutter, my feet on that curb, my hair in your eyes, your lips on my lips, and it is hard, but it is not difficult— it is not a skill that can be built, this leave-taking, not like sneaking up on a cat in the dark, back bent as the roof angles lower—there is no learning to make your steps soft and gradual, barely breathing, hands outstretched. Instead, every time, there is only stepping out into the crosswalk and knowing that the cars will stop, that they don’t want to hit you either, probably.
Sidney Dritz is a former copywriter and current dirt enthusiast. Recent poetry publications include pieces in Worms and Ink Drinkers. Follow her work as it develops on Twitter at @sidneydritz.