Love on a Bus

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Leaflet left for the next passenger
pre-picked from weeks
of peering and desire.
Too shy for a grown man
to be passing notes,
but too alone to
remember human skin.
Flairs left on the heart roadways
from pile-ups and pullaways
when he thinks of her.
He left her a picture,
drawn by hand,
of the fairest toned
floral arrangement beside
the fairest of skinned girl — her —
accompanied with a poem
written over 100 years ago
describing her perfection
in ways he can only think of
in hindsight.
A playful joist
of childish flings
because he never
felt this or anything
before.

He was in love on a bus.

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