Oh, dear Beatrixe. I saw you see me, and that was enough to tell me everything through the noise. Walking past you was my first reply, embodying the city below me was my next. I didn’t have a plan when I grabbed your wrist, and that’s why you loved it.
Hi, I said. I can’t dance, you said. You told me your name, I didn’t hear you. I told you I had no girlfriends, you didn’t believe me. Why doesn’t anybody else dance? We danced for them because this floor is ours and you mine.
I still don’t hear your name. You said you like tall guys. Is that what Spanish girls like? Your lips burned all the fire of the night into mine, and I swept you across the bar because I could. Your friends don’t understand and rush us from behind. You are too attractive for them anyways. Now they insist you leave with them, and you can’t say no.
When I finally whip it out you are amazed. Is that T9? You hadn’t seen a flip phone since High School, so you write your name. Beatrixe. You didn’t mean to spell it like that but now I have something to work with. You pressed your lips to mine and were gone. It took you longer to write your name.
My friends swore they never saw you but they are just like your friends. I saw you again on the street and you rushed me for another kiss; strangers we never were as strange we are to strangers.
Even though you didn’t remember me the next day our night was always meant to be. I know how to spell your name and you know I was just a passionate passerby. Your number was promptly deleted.