Train Home

I trace your art with my finger 

and I trace it again 

and again 

while you explain the meaning 

of each singular dot on your skin 

and I trace it again

and again and again. 

It's a warm day, 

the end of heat, 

a busy city but silent with you. 

I slipped up today but you don't 

and won't know. 

You sit with me 

although I told you to leave. 

You waited (and would have waited) 

and hugged me goodbye 

wearing your sweet, 

cheeky smile. 

“See you later” 

And you did.