February 14th, 3AM?

he folded his fingers into mine, wrapping his thumb around my palm.
there was nothing electric about it, entirely void of time and thought.
All I wanted to ask was who his first love was
but i felt too safe and soft when he tucked our hands into his warm coat pocket.
It was snowy and dark. The lake was feet away and our shadows could have been cut from one of my obsesive day dreams.
his softer eyes and lighter hair kept me away from you.
his lips tasted like the insides of your arms.
i looked down and gathered the clear information;
he played the saxophone and was studying math and science.
he was the oldest in his family and took care of his borther and sister.
I didn't feel needed, I felt wanted.
And I am wondering which I prefer. And I know the anwser.

notes on the night blossom

a stretch lives not just in the place of your absence, or mine,

but in the blooming my flower flexes

from great distances.

not to say a nectar left un-spooned or grazed,

like my back of your absence,

emits a lonely scent.

just grown and pink,

fleshy and pouting by design,

waiting for your lips to plant

onto mine

a kiss.