I watch them kiss, as I walk on the opposite side of the street.
Two young woman. Rich perhaps. Carefree.
They are in love. Maybe gold sickness doesn’t steal everything.
Luminaries in this town. Ones that made it to the wider world.
I’ll always be here. Haunting book stores and bars.
I want to be young like them. In love. Carefree and open. No paranoia.
They smile, and hold hands, and walk on down the sidewalk.
They conspire, share air, as they whisper secrets.
Rich girls hands are soft and warm. My true love’s hands; calloused.
And they’ll see the stars tonight, love making separating souls
from their bodies, and letting them touch that holy fire.
I will write words, trying to remember that, and being human.