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Calvin's Car
We sit in that old, rusted car— the one his father gave him a year or so back.
His hand trembles near my knee, wavering with uncertainty.
Now I don’t get butterflies, just dew drops in my eyes and a sailor’s knot in my stomach.
The words he says ring so sweetly in my ears, and they haven’t left me undisturbed since.
In my head, I hear echoes of his soft, youthful lust, caressing my neck with his warm breath.
I fell in love with him in that stupid car— the dark one that didn’t always start.
Now I’m older and I can see that I was foolish: A mere child caught in the tangle of life and love.
But in my dreams, I see him sleeping beside me, and with a flutter in my gut I know that these memories will never fade.
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