Too Far

I remember the day I learned
that you wanted me.
I was at your home alone
about to walk the dogs.

We were texting.
You had smelled the smoke
on my breath that morning.
A former smoker
with a weakness for Newports,
you joked
(or was it a joke),
I wanted to kiss you.
I paused, shocked,
not sure whether to laugh
or play along.
I had been in love with you
for a year.
I held my breath.
Is that what it will take?
Then, embarrassed,
Too far?
Forever went by.
Not at all, you said,
and something about a pool
and flexible morals.
It becomes a blur because
that's when I felt it.
It was one hundred fireworks
bursting from my chest,
an irrepressable giddiness,
a tidal wave of joy,
disbelief and relief.

This weekend
I heard Ann Druyan on the radio
describe the moment she realized
that the late astronomer
Carl Sagan loved her.
Voyager 1 had just launched.
The host kept asking her
about her accomplished career
but all she wanted to talk about
was that phone call.

It was the best walk of my life.
As the dogs and I meandered
through your neighborhood,
I wondered if anyone would ask
why I was shaking,
why my grin was so wide.