Wednesday, May 24, 2017


I'll never get used to waking up next to you,
clothes on the carpet; your jeans, a faded blue.
Your smile, piercing through the still of the night,
and I'm sitting here, trying my best not to write.

But then it all comes back, triggering déjà vu;
the minute I met you, the moment I knew.
Your arms wrapped around me as if I'm home;
no longer on a stroll, a wander. I used to roam.

I put my hand on your chest so I can feel it;
that humble heart glowing in the dark (sunlit).
It doesn't speak but I can hear it talking,
or maybe it's just me, maybe I'm sleepwalking.

Softly we chat, serenaded by the projected stars.
For three years, we have been making memories: ours.
I close my eyes, and you don't think I see it, but I do.
You and me together for another ninety; they flew!

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