The first star.

Dust swept feet,
Sandy knees,
And blisters that I am proud of.
The remnants of the night before that I sure as hell needed.

On a frequent basis I an comfused.
Thousands of thoughts fill the wrinkles in my cranium while I lay at the edge of the pool with my feet in the water. I sing to the stars, and to you, my own little way of pleading for them to come out while the sun still sets before me. The first star is visible finally. You point it out while we lay with dust and sand and concrete in our hair. We are being eaten alive by bugs but we don't even care.
You sit up and suddenly the first star disappears with the clouds. It becomes unsearchable.

I am in constant awe.

Minutes later we share a chair, the kind that are designed for lounging alone, but we weren't. We intertwined and felt bloods resistance to gravity. Heartbeats and God. They find eachother somehow. My shirt hung low and you probably caught a glimpse while I was still singing to the stars and to you.
At times I felt as if the cats in the bushes were spying on us. I think I was spying on us, too. We heard them rustle the brush but we could never see the lioness that hid behind the green.

A kiss on the head and I am off. Another opportunity missed but not another evening wasted.

-A