This air is cold,
and sitting out on this curb with you
I know will haunt me
long past when you fade from me.
This moment,
ticking away as time continues without us,
will last an eternity
though I will forget the color of your eyes
and you the sound of my voice
this memory, will brand itself to my psyche.

Holding on to you,
the warmth of your fingers intertwined with mine,
the hard asphalt and still air
barely luminated by an old street light,
will become the definition of May.
Eternity may pass,
my bones may turn to dust,
your hair may loses its hue,
but this moment will last.