i’m writing
because, i miss you
and boston.
i miss the heedless way
we wound our way through streets.

our hands held a careful pattern,
fingers anchored, woven in
one after the other.

our laughter was more careless,
reckless, bounding off walls and streets
and parked cars and
arching puddles, and how we laughed
to finally be part of the movies.

it was that bittersweet chill that
pulled me to your arms,
but the warmth of the hand on my hip
was more than simple heat.

and i am just writing,
because i miss you,
even when we’ve just parted.
and when you go,
think of me.

i’ll be there in your arms
in boston.


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