Poem from a March day

(quite some time ago)

I caught the 16.53 home early
on the day before your anniversaire
You got my note, a sixteen-year-old’s folded confession
scribblings of a toad and a doughnut
and our other jokes, they were all just for us
Then you said this day will be the death of me
and I binged on those lyrics, desperate for a sign, as if it wasn’t one enough
because I think we are kissing without touching
but do you
Or is it all these years of coincidence, taken as subtext
adding up to a brain malfunction?
Around a short pub table
there were collegiate confessions and I gathered my snippets
more on your middle names and the little logo on your skinny blue tie
The air was palpable and all that has gone unspoken between us
for this lifetime
I was across from you
melting with jokes of small towns
but if I am just another–
say so now.
Because I cried on the 16.53 service.
Baby, I’m burning.

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