neon light life

Softly glowing strands of memory
left behind some evening emerge
and curl about sleepy fingers.
They tell of stranger parts
I will never see.
From another world, it seems,
you walked in, onto this greying pavement of
memories. We traded tales
by neon light, neon lives and dusted motes
swimming by my sight.
Not once was anything said
we just kept knowing what we should.