Impression

train
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

For Jordan
 
 

I return from the station
expecting you gone
but here you are:
 

ash blonde head
on the creamy pillow,
a soft cotton foot
 

balled under the bed,
ears still attuned
to the melody,
 

your hand pressed
against misty glass.
I resist the urge to tidy;
 

to tuck wires into drawers,
make beds, wipe smears,
gather laundry
 

and instead lie next to you,
unable to forget your face
at the carriage window.
 
 

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Filed under Free Verse, Poetry

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