Her

I’ve got no structure to the worlds

I visit when I touch her when her lips

graze mine, pink stained cheek flushed

like wine on the sheets of the beds we share

and the way I stare when she sleeps like

a dream I once woke up from, grasping for air

And I sometimes double tap my phone screen,

late at night hoping it’ll somehow wake her–

make her smile, closed eyed, and think of me.

Even when she’s wrapped in my arms and

the alarms are shut off before they begin,

she’s already running away, abstract art

I’m off to this late start and I stumble over

hurdles I had placed months ago,

pacing myself to breathe, and to

note the finish line quickly approaching.

Months turned to weeks

soon we’ll be faced with days

and precious hours to press our

faces against my apartment window and to

flash strangers and to

smile until our gums hurt and to

whisper, hair brushing fingers and to

lock our elbows in grocery store aisles and to

get ready and to

get set and to

go.

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