doubting you would, under
the Ford Street Bridge at dawn,
you kissed me, as a trumpet vine
grabs onto every available surface,
on arbors, fences, telephone poles,
and trees, you wrapped your tendrils
into my yellow throat and made the world
feel closer than it ever has before.
Unmediated by the veil of what we think
we know, I kissed you back, and together
we became unfamiliar, like finding new oceans.