Sanctuary

Fugitives
on the run from record mercury
seeking solace in the heights of cool pine bluffs
seeking to spend every moment from pancakes until Letterman
learning the lines of each other’s faces and
stories in each other’s eyes, so that we forget all day to eat. 

Suspended in a downpour
of newborn love and thunderstorms,
a vestibule on main street,
wholesome hometown antique shop, a cold rain, and steam
so hot from our kiss, it’s about to turn X-rated. 

Little hole in the wall,
off the sidewalk where people pass,
this is the place we choose.
Our sanctuary. 
A place we come to know,
we are for each other. 

We will always be together
and maybe the heat conjured up this road trip,
sent us up state in a small silver two-seater
so the thunderstorms could hold their ceremony
and the rain could baptize us in a makeshift altar
among passing strangers. 

Because that is where we could breathe each other,
and that is where our heat turned to wild-fire.
So hot it raged into this Latin love thing and
babies were born of it. We’re livin’ always in the heat.
Like that love that grew out of cool lust in the street.
There is no place else we ever want to be.

 

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