And there's a scrape, scrape of Converse
against the early morning pavement.
And the conversation's
interesting,
But not of as much interest
as
the unsaid.
I brushed my teeth before now,
but the taste between my teeth
overpowers
me.
We avoid the feeling,
if we ever mention a connection.
But the sun, the streets,
such heat for a mere morning,
is simple,
won't cause your cheeks to burn.
Your softness haunts
me.
The memories ride on the heat.
Floating up, up,
far beyond our reach.
The passion haunts
you
buried between the hesitation
and the sheets.
And in my skin you found
a question
while in yours I found
myself.
