Swallowing my misplaced resolutions, you reach for my finger,
that I have less timidity
showing small affections in front of my father
than with our closest friends.
(they may not judge, or even question at this point
but I would rather not chance the confrontation.)
Small affections are all I allow myself -
And you too -
A way to appreciate outside of space and time,
A breathing love
We always share.
I guess I should stop speaking for more than myself -
You ask me to walk you home
And I might as well,
I would walk across the town.
(The last of winter troubles
Crushed under my beat-up boots.)
Smoke from the cigarette we split,
Thick night air,
And stale words I’ve said before.
My sighs of relief for
Safety, your well being.
Down a half-decent beer
Instead of everything else.