Met in an elevator (going up).
Flirted across dance floors, held
hands on airplanes, stumbled through
narrow New Orleans avenues in our work clothes.
Howled at the moon from a balcony
in the Quarter as a new year rose.
Classed up some pretty dirty dives, dumbed down
three-star Florentine eateries.
Earned some bruises from the bruisers
on the rail at the rock and roll shows.
Held it steady in salsa-on-one;
got hitched above a bistro.
Dropped anchor in the suburbs and put
serious thought into comforter colors and shoe racks.
Learned to listen quietly together
to the stillness at the center.
Older now, better now.
Our parallel love.