An Evening You could Wear So Well

I could steal you for an evening, steal you for an instance.   Breathe in a summer air just days before the solstice. 

I could inhale you like a hemlock, a wormwood, an enchanting forbidden taste that is exquisitely yours and yours alone. 

I would place my hand in the small of your back and let it drift downwards.   Maybe just barely touch lace. 

I would buy you a linen dress to barely hold your outline. 

I would buy you Italian ice that I would taste on your tongue. 

I would kiss you on a street corner where strangers would gasp at the audacity. I would motherfucking kiss and I would weaken knees. 

And then we would walk some ways further and I would notice a moon and some neon and taillights of cabs and I would hear horns and airplanes and the fallings of stars and in the pink and blue hues of an evening I believe I would turn to you, and murmur to you that you were more gorgeous than this...and I would point to an evening gussied up in its colors and you would know it to be true. Because I had said so.