Impossible blue clouds

“You’re kidding me” and “no, thanks,” are
her most favorite words, easily. Tom had

informed me prior to the get-together that she
was a killer at yoga; an absolute beast, he phrased

it, about. So she wore jeans and vest
that had to be nineties made, and it was hard to

avoid a glance at those toned, tan arms crossed,
attached to a hand attached to a drink. Her smile

is like a spring sky, with impossible blue clouds and
a variety of song birds about the trees. It makes me spit

my drink nearly, just conversing with her, and
every once

and again my eye line hits some angelic

angle: like on a titled-head laugh, or a superior wink,
or brief grin and brush of my arm with her hand.

shivers and slightly slitted lips, this meet up
has got me all mixed. mega waves hit me when she

grabbed my wrist, twisted my eyes into hers and said
“I have a storage unit I need to unpack; will you help me?”