We play over one another like melodies
and fall like leaves from Autumn’s grace
while I wish to warm myself
in the heat of your love.
But there are (falling) stars, (full) moons,
and gallons of milky ways that separate us
and there is something, always
building itself between us
that even distance cannot comprehend.
I sometimes wonder
with fleeting hope if we will meet again
in some cinematic scene:
a dark French cafe
a jazzy Seattle bar
when your memories are hazy
and mine are still colorfully growing
if we could coordinate our rhythms
where yesterday left off.
Different composers
trying to find common time
in a restless movement
will still desperately seek something
even when they have it all.