Waiting

1 August 2018

Would you like to fall in love?
I want to ask.
I’ll make soup.

It is winter and she is pale,
blowing on chapped hands
as we stand
waiting.

What are you reading?
I want to ask.

What are you listening to?
I want to ask.

She has the kind of ears I like:
sticking out a bit
with her hair tucked behind.

In the end I say nothing,
lowering my eyes as she raises hers.

I think she may have cut her own fringe.

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