So you fall in love one
drunken night.
His smile is warm and his hands are, too, and when he kisses you
it’s like your soul feels the heat of his.
When he touches his
forehead with yours it is warmth you feel, bubbling from the inside and
when he
tucks a loose lock of hair behind your ear his fingertips leave embers in its
wake.
So you fall in love, and
it is warm.
So warm it fogs up your glasses and he takes them and wipes them
with the hem of his faded rock-band shirt.
So you fall in love like
this.
It’s not an
Afterthought or
aftermath
or
an after anything.
It’s a small moment of now and it is bright, and it burns slow,
these little pockets of fire.
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