Mariposa Street
left butterflies in my stomach
flapping, gusts of gravity
pulled us towards the moment
Bart train, booked
Neruda sang to us
cuddled in my arms
traveling, already lost
Oakland hills
stars swam in wine fog
the wind blew us away
our journey only beginning
Until, at last
in the back of your Oldsmobile
eyes locked, bodies aligned
a kiss softer than that summer night
made every moment before
a little more magical
Branden E. Balenzuela, USA
The Social Poet 