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Evan Jun 2018
I'm looking for
love as limitless
as the amount of
antique shops in any
given small town,

where the stories of old
take the form of rickety
milk carton crates
refusing to be sold.

Give me love as strong
as those floorboards
gently cradling the past.

The owner flips the
sign on the door.

"Closed"
I was traveling through my home state and noticed that every single small town had an abundance of antique shops. Something about that hit me with an overwhelming feeling of inspiration and this poem was the result.
Evan Jun 2018
We danced.
But not like in films.
No, no, no, this was real.
We moved to the beat of the drums.
Swayed with the smooth silky bass lines.
We held each other—
And in those moments it was all gone.
Just you, me, and the music floating around us.
I felt like a schoolboy
And your body was my homework.
As the music moved our feet,
I was studying.
My hands were the pencil,
Your skin my paper.
I took notes on every crease—  
I highlighted the important parts.
I wrote a thesis on your anatomy with my fingertips,
All while the sounds carried our feet in tandem.
Every moment of this evening, drilled in my brain
Because later—
there would be an open book test.

— The End —