that time
when we weren’t friends
I mean, we were,
but not like usual
not like love.
You had a boyfriend
and we met,
four months after
we split,
as old lovers
me, smoking
you talking kind words.
We saw how we’d grown
apart and together
how we had shed our
faults.
You rubbed my leg
with your knee.
That night we fucked
thoughtlessly
but the hands,
whispers,
the frantic display
meant something
something
more.
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