Her body was swaying from sleep
Shoulders already touching
Hips squeezed in
And breath, intimate.
Perhaps it was the faint smell of dumplings in the air
Or the realization that she was formed from part of the cosmos,
But her swaying sleep
No longer bothers me.
This bus is a mirror.
A mirror into my heart
And into yours.
A space we can learn to collide.
(Thanks to Adam for the tweet inspiration)