You were the reason I tripped.
I should tell you that
but I won't.
Tomorrow
my camera
will blur the old church
behind your face
your black hair
will contrast sharply
against the white-washed stucco.

If I ask it
you will raise an eyebrow
the way you do
when you think you might
disagree
then I will snap the shot
and you
will remain there
by the church
forever
on the old sun baked road.

You were the reason I tripped.
And goodnight
can mean many things
but your kiss landed
on my lips
the edge of wet
and let go
and I went up the stairs
and tripped.
I should tell you.
But I won't.