knitted feelings

Forehead against robustly knitted sweater
it's autumn, but noone is wearing jackets.
Stepping out into the morning where the world is made new
everything in the same place yet we're radically different.
We rock against each other as the metro sways through the city,
forhead against sweater.
I am aware of my body for the first time
keeping his steady as he does mine.
I breathe his unpronounced promises for the last time 
If we stay really still while the city flies by, anything could happen.
How else do you explain that we're here?
When we say goodbye someone whispers 'this is real life'
and then he is gone. 
Knit one, purl one. Anything could happen.


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