Been 9 days,

You tell me to my face, you love me you love me. And I can’t get the words enough, I can’t hold on to the words alright, I can’t keep it to myself.

A glass of wine, in the sunlight. Evening comes and bodes overhead. A bottle of currant red wine, in the fridge, cork open so it’s slowly drip, drip, dripping. Red on the floor. Unscrewed. You, disheveled, raggedy old jeans. Clean mustard look. Like firm cherries in the evening’s light. Me, tender, at last.

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