I showed you naked fragments,
how years at a time without it
were overcast. This is why you
held my hands with pleading eyes
at the door, wrapped me in cologne
longer and tighter than usual in the dark.
I couldn’t stay, stray away from home,
even if you’re lonely. But thank you
for the teenage blush back in the days,
while still blooming on paper.
I’ll see you later.
Someday, when you’re absently
flipping through new pages, you’ll
bump into a different woman and reminisce.