It was you breathless and tall

let me stay.
here
 for a moment longer.  time
does not listen,  as I lean against the dirty fence, tilt my head back
and watch as she signs her name on the bottom of the page.
two of the kind that loves. the greatness of drawing whatever comes
to mind.  stiches in a worn out bag.  sidewalks. denim. string binding
us together.  Alabama summers.   and vegetables. 
fingers through our hair as our voices are lost in the noise of the street cars,
and we are merely speaking into each others' eyes.
both knowing, both realizing that somehow this conversation
was longer in a different place
perhaps
the world knows exactly what is right, 
through, tonight it seems too fast. 
slow
down.
I'll write you a poem,
as slowly as I can
but
\it might still be to fast
for me. 
I wish we could come back to a moment, and
finish it,  without rushing.
this would be one of these. 

folds his poetry into her hands,
paintings under his arm,
a goodbye in a smile,
moving along, 
through the rush of the darkness
through the city,
again,
as time holds my hand and
pulls me. onward. 


Andrew Tipton