Is this the love story I’ll be telling
Days in and nights out?
Not – we were entwined and then she left.
But – we hardly met and then we were.
Here, there, everywhere.
Is this the love story we will always talk about, quiet nights in bed. Entwined. Her dark skin soft against my pale calloused soul, self. Bone and skin stretched tight.
She says I love you; I believe her.
Because I love her as well.