poetry slam: a refrain

When we finally arrived inside the crowded building, I sat at the floor of my friend, the judge. There had been hope you were already there. Sitting inside, laughing with respect with all the cool people. Hemp clothing and backyard activists, the girls with interesting hair and patchouli faces turned smiling towards the stage. I had a picture in my head. A short film of sensation, flickering. You would be behind me, I would be unaware until you grabbed me into you the way you do. Catching me with the momentum of the moment and its energy flowing. I would be surprised yet wanting to laugh/die for the perfection. We would sit together, there on the floor and that would be enough. Only that circle, those arms.

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