The Universal Diary of Knowledge and Pleasure

 I remember when we first met
 beneath the bridge.
 It was back when your mother’s house
 was painted Cape Cod grey.
  
 We hung from the jungle gym
 like prisms catching light
 that broke our laughter—
 not even/out, 
 but hushed and lulled 
 into a blend of dusty brushstrokes.
 White hands clasp black hands
 mesh white hands now blue.
  
 Years later, the planets learned
 how to pulse in tune 
 with the seizing stars.