Twenty-Something Renaissance This is me growing into myself.

I found him on a dance floor
Scuffed hardwood
Somewhere in Harlem
A room of Twenty-Somethings
Trying to create their own renaissance
Dark lighting
Loud music
Liquor-coated ambiance

I was feeling some kind of way
And hoping it was more Kismet
Than tipsiness

The way he played with words
I yearned to taste them
Or at least the tongue they rolled off of

This could be dangerous

I’m sure it’s magical
That I conjured him up
“Who are you?” I ask
Regularly
He never answers
Just chuckles
Surely he is momentary
I recognize his lack of moss
Must make the most of the time he doesn’t believe in
Let days bleed together
So I can pack them with memories

He inspires me to write

Uses winks loosely
And flirts with each breath
Befriends entire rooms
I imagine that he is the future me
Unafraid
And that he’s learned the art of loving long enough
To make days feel like eternity
And the skill of leaving before he can create a sour after taste

Just as this one is ending
He popped up to teach me about seasons
A willing student
I’m all about this moment