kiss at lake michigan, mid-february by Nicole Cartwright Denison
it was in the kiss by the lake, the moon looming and orange
as we strolled toward shoreline, snow piled with sand,
the news crew hurrying toward the edge of the lip of night
waiting for the aperture’s capture of winter’s last light,
that I realized in the clutch of your arm
there are other people in the world of stone and steel
not unlike us, their buildings alive with electricity,
the elevated lines’ distant murmur humbling us
to that architecture, like theirs, which loops in our lips,
in that kiss by the lake in the first warmth
of spring
as we strolled toward shoreline, snow piled with sand,
the news crew hurrying toward the edge of the lip of night
waiting for the aperture’s capture of winter’s last light,
that I realized in the clutch of your arm
there are other people in the world of stone and steel
not unlike us, their buildings alive with electricity,
the elevated lines’ distant murmur humbling us
to that architecture, like theirs, which loops in our lips,
in that kiss by the lake in the first warmth
of spring
Nicole Cartwright Denison lives on a trout farm in western North Carolina, is author of the chapbooks The 4th Stage of Grief (blossombones, 2008), Purview to Undoing (Gold Wake Press, 2008) and Recovering the Body (dancing girl press, 2007) and a Best of the Net and Pushcart Prize nominee.
