I is for interlude.

I barely remember you, like all good parentheses merely a pause in the main. But I'll never forget that night-turned-early-morning, standing on the end of your dock, the warm waters of the Intercoastal lapping at the wooden pylons beneath us. You grabbed me as a joke, dipped me backwards as they do in black-and-white movies, and stopped for a moment to look fully at my face. And then suddenly you were kissing me in the silent, humid starlight.