Passing Notes

There is a part of me

that wants to sneak you a slip of paper.

Maybe under your door on a humid night,

Where I could slip away

and quickly turn vapor.

 

The paper wouldn’t be ordinary,

short and quaint,

but the moment you read it,

there would be no restraints.

 

At this moment,

I have no desire for anything more.

I know that it is not the right time,

but eventually we will both come upon that door.

And when we do,

I will be bold,

for I can foresee exactly

what this can hold.

 

 

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