I see you

tapping your foot

against pavement,

fingers

itching to stroke

the smooth length

of your cigarette,

luggage

ready to be hauled

by airport attendants,

I,

clinging

like a speck of dirt,

on the silver handle

of your suitcase,

waiting for your hand

to close around

the curved metal,

aching to melt

with the sweat

sinking deep

into lines

crossing your palm.

READ
For love of the craft

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