Parallel

By Leatrice

You are for another life.
The slope of your nose
elevates your cynical quips,
your handwriting so disjointed,
every letter appeared
from different years,
stepsons of their time
hobbling towards a complete thought.

We turn our dirges into gossip.
I know only your coastline,
urge you to be wild,
whip up life's marrow
and sink your fingers in its luxury.
You deserve it.
Go on, go out,
explore every freckle
the summer liberated.
Be gay, be straight, be foolish,
be enviable and gorgeous.

And in a parallel world,
in a parallel beer garden with the same
cigarette smoke, you and I cough
until we need to leave
together, pinky fingers casting
swear words to the door,
curls and tresses at our waists
nudging, tangling, latching.