Bridge Across Forever

am easily talked into things, I muse. Sitting in the car on a day that I am stolen from office. I couldn't resist his wind washed hair and an unspoken promise of fun.

Its a dark afternoon. Pouting clouds. Just a fistful of sky.

We love bridges. Both of us. Places that connect unwanted paths. Or desires even.

The first drop of rain on asking arms. Biblical almost...

And we stop the car to get down... amongst hurrying passersby to safer eaves. The wind that's picked up dust from unswept corners that pushes everyone away. A tug at a scarf, a pull at the person, a yank at the umbrellas...

Raindrops knock on unopened eyelids.

The car's blinkers rhyme in unerring patterns of light.

It rains a generous rain. Our clothes tired of protest, give up and cling to us in the beating rain.

We stand at a point where the bridge arches in defeat.

Descent... he corrects me.

What's the exact point called, we both know not.

Bridge-0-bow...

The exact moment his lips close on mine I think is somewhere between the half formed O and the surprise caught beforehand.

Maybe this is what is called stealing words from one's mouth.