Now We're Eight

It's all of us, even if you can't see it
between the interminable laughter and the songs of nostalgia,
between the days that become weeks and the alabaster beaches,
we are eight, even if you see five;
We stroll, slipping upwards,
through neighborhoods as full of life
as they are of endings, and we begin in the middle,
drawing futures, as uncertain as safe
in our unity;
Wrapped in the sun
near a sea of comings and goings
filled with pockets of moments
untouchable in their exhilaration, lost
between the keys of homes and hotels
and the change we give, together
between coats and jackets, carrying your arms
through the cities I live.