of space carved into damp wood
like a breakfast nook;
a percolation
of morning coffee, made
with the heat of shared laughter;
a voice on fire reaching me, tender
newborn softness, surprising
warmth, in so small a frame
i picture you drinking, me
watching, you
smiling as it all steeps in
the world, a porous filter
soaked in this kind of knowing, placed
gingerly on a turning page.
to read your words is to see, my heart
reflected in the mirrors, your eyes
looking into me
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