When the warped, wonderful dance joint I've gone to forever seems like a new place with her,
and stale without her,
I know.
When dull, dry concrete rooftops bitten by winter's cry
breathe warmth under worn black leather because there I first paused, watching her,
I know.
When the number of numbing, heavy footfalls doubles,
but seems light as air when her hand is in mine,
I know.
When I easily put aside the raw, momentary smiles of manhood
because she replaces them with her voice, her heart, and her touch,
I know.
When the ache of past broken panes of glass and snapped harpstrings
finally fail to keep me, restless and awake
I know.
When childish songs ring true,
when foolish plays harbor a surprising depth,
when strung-together moments taste like hours
and hours are not enough
I know.
Why she asks me in a voice I hold onto like the rope that brings me ashore in the gale of my life
how I know for sure that I love her...
I know.
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