Corny Love Poem v.1

It’s now, he thought.

He had been in bed,
half-covered, entirely naked, and fully awake.

The water ran;
she was up.

It's now, he knew.

It wasn’t when they awkwardly met through Judith.
Awkward because they could each see the other look away
and hear the other fumble
and trip over tongues.

It wasn’t when they first made love
or when they first fucked,
when they could feel each other fumble
and trip over tongues.

It was almost the time he saw her at the store, unexpectedly.
She was scrutinizing the shampoo aisle with her arms crossed,
one leg kicked out, heel planted – exasperation as tableau.

He slipped behind her,
kissed the nape of her neck as his hands slid under her jacket
and wrapped around her into familiar warmth.

He felt her tense – an involuntary spike of panic.
But it was so brief, so sharply and immediately curtailed
as his fingertips and lips pressed into her.

She just stood there as her heart slowed and eyes closed.

They walked out palms pressed desperately together.

It was almost then,
but it wasn’t.

It was this morning in bed,
when the running tap had pulled him from sleep.

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