The Fall

two hands in a pocket
the exact same walking pace
cobblestones
and alley ways
thin undrivable streets
cafes
we sing and talk in
dark old movie theatres
flamenco good and bad
on a small stage
the hairs raise on my skin
i squeeze your leg
bread and tomatoes the
way they were meant
to taste
for breakfast
wine at 3PM
a vertical line
on your face
my marking point
as we walk
afternoons
into endless nights
underneath
the cold winter
air
and the
drinking chocolate
it happens
7 days
warm skin
soft light
crawl into bed
lips meet
in the middle