escalator

Like our childhood selves,
We climbed down the up escalator
in the hotel lobby, together.
I called it nostalgic; romantic.
You called it existential, seeing
our reflection in the window
as we walked without moving -
like Sisyphus working, traveling
and going no where. But that's
where verisimilitude ended.
After all, they are all wrong
about our lives, aren't they?
The churches, the parents, the friends
no longer friends. We were going
somewhere, and moving - my identity
traveling with you to a certain
hopeful future.
And I turned, there on the
escalator, and held on to you,
giving in to my identity,
giving in to the stars, giving
myself to you and that
moving staircase, taking me
up, up, up, further inside you,
toward my hopeful future, and all
the things I never could, or
let myself, become.

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