Newly incubated from loneliness, her hair
falls in fresh waves on my shoulder. We
share a long ride toward imprisonment
or joy of days: some station she'll stop,
sling her bag in defiance of the world,
click off on concrete, steel of heels.
They will fade as the train doors close
while I will lean my head on manicured
glass, feel the draught of shoulders &
ponder the comfort of sharing them
like common places on a morning train.
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