The morning after …

I saw you at the Sunday sesh
I knew I wasn’t wrong
The curve of your head
hair cropped short,
with no start or end
the way you pulled the wallet free
from your back pocket
your sleeves rolled up uneven
so infuriatingly you
the aching familiarity
you glanced over,
while laughing with mates
our eyes met, unexpectedly
it subdued you for a moment
before you threw a careless grin
over your shoulder,
and I caught it

This morning, I wish I hadn’t
Now look at the pickle we’re in!

One thought on “The morning after …”

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