Making Up
Together again, meeting up
at the Stone Soup reading
following an arguement,
Lynne sits behind me during the show
but not to avoid.
She leans against me,
says I smell good.
I remember later:
she does this to hunt for
this sliver of a soul
I call my own
that often goes off to hide
like money in a sock.
No, more like subway tokens
in a small pocket you forget about,
even forgetting how to hear
its clinking as you walk.
Such an ardent searcher,
I'm always the last to know it's there
and the first to be surprised.
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