Being in love in is like being in an airport:
awake at odd hours,
presenting proof that you belong
in order to go somewhere new.
The scrutiny of security measures,
the nervous anticipation,
to land exactly where you knew you would.
In Miami during a 24 hour layover,
I saw a guy wearing nylon tattoo sleeves.
(they were bunching at the elbow.)
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1 comment:
this is beautiful. i'm calling you now.
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