They will say we sound like the distant rumble of two trains passing in the wake of night - like the scent of sweet magnolia and a snowing dogwood gallivanting through the city streets,

dancing just beneath the down-turned noses of street vendors, invading the savory bites being consumed underneath umbrellas outside of old pubs and well-established breweries by the high-class and low-class, the white-collars and blues, and those without likes of either.

Others will say we look like two stars - colliding

like kaleidoscope images caught in a spiraling hall of mirrors.

Yet, it is we who will say that we are nothing more,

no thing less than the settling of dew at dawn gently upon the surface of one's skin, that causes for only a moment, a shiver, a slight chill,

the hairs to rise before they rest again.

? 2023 All Rights Reserved, O'Dellshae TruVarsha Wiles Robinson El Bey writing as Egypt English.