You held my hand as we
drove through the desert,
the parched night air like a
ribbon that tangled in our hair.
We stopped for a drink in
what could've been a ghost town,
had it not been for the neon lights
wound around and strung between the lampposts.
I got something to share with you,
a drink, delighted at the thought of
our lips sharing the same edge; it was
almost as if we were kissing.
When I returned to the car
you were standing with three other
girls - one who was barefoot, her toes
blackened by the asphalt.
I joined you, but hesitated
because I understood that we
were in that no man's land between
something and absolutely nothing at all.
But you somehow sensed my
trepidation and slid a reassuring
arm around my waist, pulling me close
to you and kissing my lips with tenderness.
It was in that moment
I loved you because
I knew I was safe.