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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