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.