Train Station

Blue dress

Pinned back hair

In her Sunday’s best

In the Summer air.

 

She waits for the train

To bring to her

The end of waiting pain

The arms of her lover.

 

Her eyes bright,

Anticipating.

Her lips tight,

Still smiling.

 

She waits at the station

For her lover, her confidant, her friend.

She waits ever so patient,

For her husband, her kin, her man.

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I.S.

And I most of all miss hearing your breathing. The proof of your soul’s existence. Evidence of our lack of care for space. When we have the room to ourselves and you would rather keep to the bed with me.

You place your cold hands on my shoulders. I take them in mine and kiss them, warming them with my own breath. Proof of my soul’s existence.

You kiss my forehead.

You fall asleep, your hands in mine. I fall asleep, your lips on mine.

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