Inside and out.

I noticed it most, I think,

When I crashed a cigarette

just to have that little extra in common that night

And before, inside, I caught a look that was part fear and part taboo

A flash of something utterly vulnerable while I stretched, and curled up

and asked you to read for me

and yeah, blushes and maybe even a little worry, but I saw –

you still g r i n n e d

and before: outside

it was too dark to lay in the grass
you said

but I thought: imagine that

no light, and cold damp grass, and cold wet air, and two warm bodies, and music hummed and breathed in and gasped out and all in

tandem

But a no (for now) is a no.

And still, you carry me home on hope.