she walked past him in a red coat. he was sitting in the hazing
that comes in the dawn. his back to the window and the world
and his soul in his typing fingers, the innocence in him
always stark and fresh. his leg stretched out just so, his
headphones taped over his ears, and his apparent
studied nonchalance. he is dry in the rainstorms; he is burdened
with caring. she sees in him something of the doe that runs
at the first thunder, that runs from her but still hangs politely
in his eyes and the space between his footsteps, when he
walks from universe to universe across
the carpets. he is also a storm, and a good one,
he is leaning forward to become lightning in some other
girl’s eyes.
he is sitting at a round small table and studying, already
knighted in my head as I walk past. when I look over once
he looks up too
but we are spared eye-sex because
I flick my eyes down and away, guilty and wrapped up in
moving-on, in growing up.
the boys I love do not know
that they are already immortal
I love this, you’ve captured it completely
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thanks so much ❤
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