She softened her tenses
For a shot-glass full of yearning
And a minor headache while wondering
If it would last or not.
That last he felt with a sting,
One flavored with lemon-bitterness and regret,
And he took it all personally.

She then turned to face his guilt
And found a little boy who knew his place
Was near the most probable cause of alarm
Without any interest in pause buttons.

The afternoon sweltered with bad stories and tasteless ruminations.
She´d had enough.
Along the walk home they both held another´s hand;
Though attached to the result, neither would speak of the
Synthesis growing between them.
That would take another nine months and a bowl full of laughter,
Which neither was ready for.


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