You told me to turn it up.
Better than any other three word phrase.
So I did.
We shared that bus seat,
Our knees scrunched up to our bodies,
Fingers worked the volume button.
Reaching for the music, your hand
My thigh and blushed
my cheeks.
Looks seared into my eyes,
Chiming voice,
You hate this song.
A hint of teasing in your smile.
Sarcastic retorts send you into a silent fit of
I hit pause to hear.
Your fingers.
With mine,
You search for the play button,
And linger
Without cause.
Create a simple paper airplane.
It doesn’t fly.
Still more potent than cupids arrow.
With a speeding bus and open windows even
Creamy blushes.
Lingering touches.
Fumbling fingers
Cant hold on.
The flightless airplane soars out the window.
The wind takes it without a single
Takes my breath along
With its silent thievery
I didn’t realize it was g o n e.

by Jordan Griffiths

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