In the Span of a Traffic Light
I saw you at the corner of 8th and vine. You were barefoot and dancing, wearing a flower and singing “Lips of an Angel.” You’re long, silken curls shimmered a warm chestnut in the waning Autumn sun. I wanted to hear you better, so I ignored the light, stared, listened as you through you head back to hit the high note. Your eyes were electric blue when you opened them again, so stunning I could hardly breathe when you locked on mine. You smiled, hips swaying as you moved to a beat only you could hear. I’ll never be able to listen to that song again without thinking of you.
You twirled and I saw butterfly wings tattooed across your shoulders, the pattern flowing down the backs of your arms and I could almost picture you flying, flitting from flower to flower though none could ever be as beautiful as you.
Someone honked, shattering the moment, and I froze, torn between moving and staying put, even as they honked again.
“Honey why you callin’ me, so late?” you sang, in a voice so sweet it was almost mocking. I’d love to call you.
“Can I have your number?” My words drowned out by the honking horn. I turned, started to wave them past, when I saw the cop car turning towards us. Last thing I needed was him putting his flashers on. With regret, I took my foot off the break as the final notes of your song faded away.
You licked twilight purple lips as I drove past, launched into another song, a few notes trailing after me like a haunting requiem.
“How I wish, how wish you were here….”
Yeah baby, I wish I was too, I thought, as I drove away.