Secondly

We met again—

beneath time’s breath

and wisteria’s lullaby.

Neither as strangers,

Nor as friends,

but as chapters once torn out

and folded into pockets.

Your laugh still wore the same map,

my name still paused on your tongue.

And when our hands touched—

it wasn’t old,

it was tenderly retold.

That kiss?

Not a rerun.

A resurrection.