Finding Your WayFinding your way, into a familiar part of each day’s steps and routines;
a café where the hum of voices blends with the clink of cups,
where the air carries the bittersweet scent of coffee and your cologne.
Whenever you come around, my smile lingers longer than usual,
more often than I hope you notice, a quiet rebellion against my restraint. I’m not one to draw attention to myself, yet alone my vulnerable thoughts;
at best, I cloak them in coded ciphers, woven through subtle glances,
hints tucked in the margins of your chosen words,
all the unspoken things that flicker between the lines.
Each syllable you speak lands like a note in a song I can’t forget,
and I memorize your movements as you say them—
the sweep of your hands, the slight tilt of your head,
the way your laugh breaks the silence like light through a crack. The lines of your jaw, as it so happens, would fit perfectly
into the palm of either of my hands,
a curve I’ve traced in my mind a thousand times.
I imagine the warmth of your skin against mine,
the faint roughness of stubble brushing my fingertips,
the steady pulse beneath, alive and close.
As it so happens, I desire to do just that—
to hold your jaw in the palm of my hand,
to draw you nearer, my lips inching closer and closer to your own,
until our breaths tangle, until the world shrinks to this single point,
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