Our goodbyes aren't punctuated
by hugs, but with an awkward
detachment hanging midair;
You, with caution,
I, with propriety in mind.
because the air between us feels
so tense that I am conscious
of even the slightest of movements.
I laughed so much last night
when you mentioned that
I might be averse to hugs
because you don't know the half of it
and I am not sure I am willing
to tell you; and if I sent you a poem
would it confuse you further?
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