I’ve folded multiple successful fortune tellers out of the napkins while we’ve been sitting here so I’m pretty sure we’re onto something
by Vincent Olivieri
Listen,
it won’t be like when the clouds slam the doors of the sky shut all at once,
or like penciling in your spot on a creamy dance card,
or like a swan being undone into the dollar bill that it was,
or like a lightbulb appearing at the pull of a chain,
and it won’t be like when your mom slips away, all memory and not,
or like falling asleep on the inhales of smoke and the exhales of buses
or like fluttering through yellow hair in hotel table magazines,
and it won’t be like when a fragment of your favorite song gets used up by cruel commercials,
it won’t be like summer dissolving while your eyes are still closed for a picture,
in fact it won’t be like any month from November to March,
and it won’t be like a window that only opens into a wall,
and it won’t be like the eleventh hour of a party gone sour,
and it won’t be like every movie put together
and it won’t be like a meeting that could have been an email
or an email that could have been a text
or a text that could just as easily have been a phone call
that would have lasted for the rest of our lives
because it will be you and me
it will be you and me