manhole.

i could have left you
in the blur of my periphery,
blending in with the greens and browns and greys there, i
could have let my feet carry me on;
could have ignored the creeping burning blush
that grew like ivy on my chest,
the blotches blooming like scarlet letters
under my collar when i saw you perched there,
between the shadows of the trees and buildings,
rising tall in the sinking
lazy,
yellow late afternoon light.
i could have left you to the landscape,
reduced you to a mountain
or monument to things past,
and gone on and up and away;

instead, you called out and
i came, slowly, feeling your gaze
climb my frame like a trellis, creaking
with the weight.
i stood still while the pigeons
gathered around our feet,
while i memorized the details
of the science
of the way your skin looked
against the cotton of your t-shirt,

until we parted ways like willing continents,
and for once,
i did not watch you leave.