Categories > Original > Poetry > they'll never understand 'cause they were understood
to sw.
on a bus, we sit,
in worn gray seats.
it's you and me,
drawing on fogged glass.
i long to get closer,
close enough to smell you,
close enough to feel your warmth.
then your leg touches mine,
sending sparks up my spine.
i shiver.
you turn to me
and start talking
about a british comedy show.
on a bus, we sit,
in worn gray seats.
it's you and me,
drawing on fogged glass.
i long to get closer,
close enough to smell you,
close enough to feel your warmth.
then your leg touches mine,
sending sparks up my spine.
i shiver.
you turn to me
and start talking
about a british comedy show.
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