I held your hands
in a garden of ivy,
snaking languid
across the halls.
Pointed to the passing
planes against blue
as my heart trembled
in a vibrato way.
A confidence I
was unawares existed.
Your head turned
to watch the metal
arc across the heavens,
I trailed it with
my own cosmic tears,
spread like stars
at night.
The ground shifted,
the grass grew,
around our ankles
as we stood,
time no object.
A wormhole in space
and we were sucked
into a timeless vacuum.
I mailed you a letter,
you wore suspenders.
Our hair was always perfect.
But the jet broke
the sound barrier,
speeding away,
your head dipped.
My hand fell.
And the ivy
whistled in the
breeze.
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