Holding Hands

It’s easy to sit here,
Clasped hands
Staring eyes,
Inclement weather,
Winds rustling our jackets every which way
In front of a fluorescent building sometime closer to midnight than mid-day
That three letter phrase tauted so heavily
By romantics and lunatics alike
That swelling in my chest and the screaming of the conscience to make things right
With thoughts that she,
Whose tales range from broken hearts and wounded soldiers
To escapades of the inebriated and carnal nature
Whose seen a million specimen and women whisk to and from her grasp
Mostly of her choosing
Her largesses and grandiose measurements about her life before me
Fascinate me and bore me at once
Because while the journey is certainly of note
The destination is much more critical
With all the hapless souls
Hopping from Earth vessel to Earth vessel
Probing shapes and contours of every type
In all shades and lighting and fixtures and props
All for that connection we call love
Presently, with hands now around her waist
Close to her bottom
Her hands around my shoulder
We’re less concerned with these foregone tales
More so with the meeting of our torsos
I know who’s setting up her rendezvous now
I know who will assert their person for and within her
She will look only as far as we take this
And she will be loved …