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Pay Attention
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The air between us
smells like oatmeal
from those pre-sweetened
packets we’d share at work.

Work is cinnamon raisin
and stale coffee,
and I’m there,
even though I’m here
at my computer
in this dawn-dim room.

If I’d just pay attention,
(don’t write about zoom)
I could feel
your skin:
the back of my hand
on your cheek,
my fingertips
on the back of your knee.

If I’d just pay attention,
I could hear your small grunts,
those private celebrations
when you hit “send,”
like the sounds men might make
when they look at an engine.

If I’d just pay attention.


Enjoyed this (particularly “don’t write about zoom!”)

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