No. 20

Standard

There’s a bark before the tap
Someone’s at the door! A rap
precedes my joyful opening
my happiness unquestioning
of the great big inbetween.

“I hopped on The Bus… came by
The number twenty…conveniently
stops right near your place
your own tiny shiny space
Don’t you have hugs to redeem?”

“I read that somewhere” he says
He has the funniest ways
of showing that he cares
it takes me quite unawares…
my never withheld esteem.

“That No. 20 is a good one,
it brings me close by. Yup.”
Mine is the heart that cannot pretend
His the aloof profile he maintains
though his eyes are agleam.

We hug. Tight and close and long.
We kiss. His arms enfolding, strong.
He’s still mumbling about the No. 20
through mingled smooches aplenty
my Ukrainian James Dean.

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