Satellites

I remember the day I almost kissed Amir.
Day that encompasses night, night that nearly persuades
the scarlet-veined leaves that it might fold into their peaceful subtleties.
They shivered as I shivered, draped in the afterthoughts of a cigarette
and secondhand addictions I compared to his.

With legs swinging blithesome over the edge of a picnic table,
I entertained quiet fascination.

Four inches between his face and mine,
a different distance between us and the stars,
and then they became the same;
numbers evaporating into the greater fact and persistence of space.

I remember the day I almost kissed Amir,
and it was the day I realized
that never will I look at the stars and not see a satellite.
And it was not one, but one in relation to the other
that so resonates in my own cognition.