Train rides and smiling eyes.

It was like old absent friends,
catching up and falling apart together.
But my hands were shaking with
the honesty of you, the things you do
without thinking. The way I know what
I am, shining, and you see it too.

And I can’t think
of your bed without blushing and losing
the curve of my mouth, bliss cooked in a kiss.
You smell like home and i’m grateful
to know you,  hateful of the time
I wasted waiting to ask. And i so, so
adore the way you read my hands as though
I’m bound at the pages. Open for you
at the join. I’m hopelessly Utopian
but i’ll wallow in it happily aware;
although you’re leaving,
you were just there.

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