damp
Your hair smells like the rain,
damp and heavy,
but still so undeniably you.
You sit cross-legged on the floor,
telling me about a dream you had
where we were clouds,
floating somewhere we couldn’t name.
I wanted to ask if it was lonely,
but instead,
I ran my fingers through your hair,
feeling the knots and tangles
like the spaces between us.
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