If cobblestone streets could tell you anything I think perhaps
they would chant to us we are souls who wander
and that we like a certain containment 
because being free is only felt when in contrast 

So when I'd walk those alleys around noon cada dia
I'd let my heart take a little stroll too, and with a bit of a faster pace 
I'd watch it get ahead of me and end up following it around 
the winding corners and those steep stairs and 
press my palms to the cool basalt walls 
as I climbed the hills in Cusco and 
fell in love at every corner

a recollection

She kept remembering she had something to say but for some reason couldn't draw the words up from underneath. An undergrowth of guilt finally made sense again, how it stuck to the roof of her mouth and made her carry tension around the jawline. There was a deep abiding presence beneath her collarbones and it shone, grazing bones with two fingers she'd remember her constant companion nostalgia and recall the way your eyes turned down, the width of bed you shared, the first time you opened up and poured yourself away- how easily it flowed from you, you both let gravity take its toll and dispense, how you succumbed and gave yourself to her, how she arched from the base of spine and reciprocated. She wouldn't let that go not ever and spent the next thousand turns figuring how to show you.