a few airline trips and plane tickets crumpled at the bottom of our bag, somewhere in albuquerque you told me your name, tried to smudge it on an old napkin before you stuffed it in your back pocket. you reminded me of rainfall in july, creases of your lips hesitant to let secrets of your world spill onto my lap. clasping your warm hands in mine, eternity had come and gone too soon for the rapid beating of our hearts to settle in a conjoined rhythm, the ruffle bed hair beside my pillow long gone from my mind. you were my missed connection, my delayed flight back to mississippi where you reminded me of snowfall in march under a glowing yellow sun, the cold pad of your fingers pressed against the corner of my mouth, my name stumbling from your lips before the flight attendant called it. somehow i still remember your albuquerque smile, mississippi touches, and crumpled napkin stuffed in your back pocket stuck somewhere in an albuquerque airport that winter in july.