inspired by The Last Night of Your Trip

on the train ride home 
your smile flashed between buildings, 
lights flickered and i couldn’t tell 
if it was the spark in your eye 
or the streetlights beaming 
onto the dark streets. 

i saw your smile and your hand
reaching for mine, 
those bedroom eyes 
that whispered “bring me 
to your hotel.” 

we weren’t made for cheap 
sex, we were ...

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he says as it relates 
to a date 
of another first 
we’ve had. 

It reminds me of things 
I shouldn’t hold onto. 

It shouldn’t matter 
when I first noticed 
the way light hits his beard, 
or how his colors blend 
as in a Monet, 
only that I see them. 

It shouldn’t matter 
when those butterflies first flew 
from our insides; 
only that they fly every time. 

It shouldn’t matte...

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