on giant skewers
more sword-like than knife-like
they shave off our marinated meat.

we pile it on top of our
quail eggs, turkey salami,
and marinated mushroom salads.

they pop up every thirty seconds
until our plates are smaller than our eyes
and the tastes linger, love in our mouths.

you walk with me across this city, hands in pockets.
we look at all the lights. we stop
for coffee/tea in our bookstore.

the horses are decorated with glittered hooves
and Santa bells, antlers strapped on
and Mrs. Claus at the reigns.

we step into the tower again. the Santa-hatted
door man convinces us to go downstairs.
we laugh until we cry and miss the light rail.

the crisp winter air bites at our lungs
as we walk from stop to stop. images and tastes
boil up within my blood. you keep me warm.

it is three in the morning before we’re home.
the years have marinated, because we never did this,
not once, before we had them.

now it’s more glorious than any gift you could have given me.
was it the meal, the rainbow of lights on Larimer, the show?
i will never know. only passion will i remember.