Secret Ingredients
Chips
over chips and drinks
the sounds of friendship filter
through my old screen door
–
dark windows-
piles of chips
shufflled cards
Morning
our fingers entwined-
the dusky blush of daybreak
mirrored in your face
–
the rising sun-
my finger traces
along your lips
Future
going to bed late
dreading the dawn for who knows
what the day may bring
–
blowing snow-
the coarse growl
of a passing train
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