I remember that night in Union Square,
I was telling you some ridiculous tale
of my boyish adventures. I remember
the moment, my hands freezing for your hold.
Everything you said to me resonated
in a way a tropical island warms you
somewhere far from the cold
more romantic than anything in English.
In that moment, I felt fluent in a syntax my tongue
was incapable of pronouncing as a teen
still yet to learn how to do proficiently.
While I was contemplating the correct
conjugative verb, the correct timing
to accent my impulses, you fell close
to me and our lips locked on these streets
where everything is dirty, and crude.