Tuesday, December 16, 2008

pockets

I keep thinking about your hands, they meet
In your pockets; they clench far from my view
As we sit on a stoop on sixteenth street
The traffic lights illuminating you
The cold requires hats to keep us warm
And coats that mean we are not skin to skin
In doing nothing we are true to form
We barely get the chance to just begin
Admitting we like it when our legs touch
In Union Square the crowds obscure our need
The platform stops goodbyes that are too much
The Q train takes you farther now from me
We walk each week to keep it all at bay
And slowly, slowly, it begins to weigh…

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