We were on our backs
on the eighth
(and top)
floor of the parking garage,
the tops of our heads
pressed against each other.
Time passes.
We shift like
hands on a clock,
our bodies like
little magnets
(We were twelve o’clock).
We were on our backs
on the eighth
(and top)
floor of the parking garage,
our teeth chattering from
the bitter cold,
but in those fleeting hours,
I was content.
We stood looking out
onto the mountains that
framed the horizon and
I (shamefully) told you
(with hysterical laughter)
that I’d never kissed anyone
on top of a parking garage.
You cupped my face and
pressed your lips to mine
(I swear I saw Heaven,
if there is such a place)
and said
Now you have.