Abrázame Más

An old love letter that I wonder if you'll read.

Manhattan,

on the second day          of spring
a cafe that sits,   ever so slightly

    below ground
so that eyes           are aligned
with feet          passing by.

An espresso
and an Americano,         short

while we talk
about the world, the places
we have been        and the ones
we dream of going to,
                                          someday.

You say that you like cooking 
simply, focusing
on ingredients, so
I tell you to look up

     at the trees, the sky, the birds
open apartment      windows
         draped in the greenery
of leaves, and your knit sweater
               and twinkling glass chimes
blowing in the afternoon
               breeze

and then we walk
through streets I used to call home
laughing       as I point 
at memories, stopping 
in the window of a camera shop
watching 
branches in bloom, balconies,
fire escapes, and     things
that have changed.

You say that you haven't been here
     in years
you prefer a roof 
to a backyard
and sometimes you think
about living 
            here, again
but for now, you 
are just glad 
to be back

inside of a small,       cluttered bookstore
we are finally at ease

brushing shoulders,
fingertips,      while you try to guess
who is singing

pointing out names and genres and
words, until we find
the only ones we hold
in common
and they tell us, kindly
it is time
to go

first, I tell you 
that I like simple writing, and you say
you have trouble 
finishing a book, 
but you keep trying
because someday           you want to write your own
and so do I.

In the evening,

with a whiskey, neat
and a negroni
we talk about our parents
how we were made, what we chose
to believe in

the lights are low
a single candle making your eyes 
dance, while we speculate
about what makes life
worth living,             pride or happiness
agreeing
on every detail.

We stay
until last call, lingering
over drops of water
and the check           and even still
eight hours
and three years later
it takes everything in me

to walk away from you

when all that I want
is to keep coming back

for more.