by Sierra Laurin Parsons
Maybe it’s the caffeine,
but when you speak
to me, you look
into my eyes
and I notice.
You point out the sky,
say there’s a storm
brewing. At first, I think
I am the storm—
but when I drive home,
the lightning strikes,
and all I want to do
is call you and say,
come find me.
I fall in love
everyday, but
not like this.
Not like this.
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