Gold by Bader Shehab

I love it when both streaks of your hairs fall over your shoulders almost involuntarily. We’re drunk dancing on a sidewalk with probably the same record of The Cranberries playing over and over again. I’d take my shirt off and do handstands on a frozen lake, just to see your smile with a warm steam fuming this winter. Help one another climb up a bark tree, then I’d hold you in my arms wrapping you into me and dive back first onto a bed of autumn leaves. Slide down the vert ramp at a skate park and when we’re bored of that we break into a water park at night and get chased out by angry security. Kiss you in the back of that “open late hours” pizzeria. I like it when a strand of your hair gets caught between our lips. Dance with you in a stranger’s living room of this house party we snuck into. You sing your favorite choir notes from your earlier musicals into the midnight of these streets. I sprint running after the subway you’re on when you go home. I always look for your last bite mark on that onion-fried bagel, your lipstick on my coffee mug, protrusion on my pillow where your head last lay, bits of your hair still warm or the small scratches on my chest from your dark purple-polished nails from where we last made love. I find you the next day on your way to work and surprise you, at the same spot where we first met. With every last penny I mustered and with the last pink slip I lost over my car. I get on one knee in the middle of traffic, hand over a little opened box – inside it; a diamond on a ring of Gold.

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