Thirty minutes too late

I saw her from across the street
in the warmth of an Italian afternoon.

The kind of afternoon
where the sunlight stays softly
on everything it touches.

She stood there quietly,
her cheeks slightly red
from the warmth of the sun.

And I remember smiling to myself
because for a moment,

I felt jealous of the sun.

It had already kissed her
before I could.

And somehow,
I felt thirty minutes too late
to the world.