I Write

A prose poem

Loose sheets of manila brown paper imprinted with fading black ink, hastily stuffed into drawers, pockets, crisp paperbacks. I hide, hoard, store words of kisses against time, your tongue teasing out the sweet caramel bits still in my mouth, you talking rapidly, your jam stained lips moving to the beat of your utterances, while dipping your teabag into a cup of steaming water, watching it diffuse and fill the cup with its fragrance, sighing, story of my life, and I think how much of it is infused into mine. You hurriedly opening your wallet in front of the scowling impatient gas station cashier, pausing when you see worn movie ticket stubs gently flutter out, startling memories of movies we’ve watched together, some of which I don’t even remember. Your hand on mine, making me feel like dancing as freely as our silhouettes which flit across the night-washed wall. I hide, shyly, like a blushing bride, words of a thousand murmurs, fiery joy, and near-death palpitations. a breath, a sigh, a slow delight.

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