Rainy night in Avignon

(my first/last poem) photo's not my own.

We ended up here, I'm not sure how.

We went for a walk, in the warm summer rain.

We talked and talked, and walked and walked.

Then We were here.

It was beautiful.

We stood, on the old city walls.

The lights lit up, up lit, eveything, to their advantage.

Looking down on the river, an old bridge, whose purpose
Was history.

What seemed like an age, we talked, and talked, and walked .

Some more.

Our clothes stuck to our skin, hair dripping wet. Warm.

We ran through the streets, empty, but for rain.

We kissed our first kiss.