Transatlanticism.

[Certain]

Nervous fidget. I'm here. You're here. We're here.
And as worst fears evaporate
I calculate turns near.
Do we run?
Run together. Run away. Run forever.
Come December, we'll hibernate in the tundra desert.
We'll snuggle under sweaters.
Something. Nothing. Hunger sets in.
The apple of my eye or the gum I stepped in?
We're moving fast. We come in sessions.
Love as weapon.
Bellicose.
Your smell of rose aroused.
We tumble, breathless.
We.
We waited and
yet still seem so young and restless.
The buzz of a hundred texts.
Selfie and emoji are in Webster's now,
but I just figured out how to relate to you.
But I just figured out how to escape into your graceful hue
as we chase rainbows.
Reach out and touch.

Me. You. Us.