The Last Stop

That morning we had argued,

Something petty that you wouldn’t drop,

Your pale lip curled in heated disgust,

Your fists quickly clenched and turning white.

We knew just how to wind eachother up.

 

The afternoon had passed with less event

Our fury cooling to a sullen calm

Both refusing to be sorry

(though I longed to reconsile…)

You walked ahead as if I were not there.

 

Evening came at last;

You caught my eye, shyly smiled.

We took the late bus home,

You dozed beside me, drooping head and hair

Gently grazing skin.

Your hand lay loose in mine.

 

I woke you at the last stop,

We walked home in the rain.