Poem and Prose Scraps (That Don't Quite Fit Elsewhere)

Kenopsia

They were a bit awkward at first.

Well, at least she was, she's awkward,

And I'd imagine her being so didn't do much to help him.

But things gradually got more comfortable,

As always.

They sat down,

Did the arm thing.

And then, occasionally, the kiss thing.

And the kiss on the cheek thing

(Well, she did.

I suppose he did, too, but he always claims he's "bad" at it

And sometimes blames "angles",

Even though she thinks he's doing fine).

And the hug thing.

And, heh, the making out thing

(Which probably looked like a mess,

But why should they care?

It was just them,

And it felt nice regardless).

And time most obnoxiously sped up.

And then a parent would wander over

And they'd pull apart and hope they were somewhat unnoticed.

It's time to go home.

They stood.

But there was always one last moment alone,

In which they'd steal one more.

The car ride is always a bit odd,

With lingering thoughts of wanting to continue the previous activity but knowing they wouldn't get away with it.

Instead, they hold hands.

They walk each other to the door.

One last hug thing.

And then they return to their respective homes.

I sit down on the couch,

You lay in your bed.

Even though they've often been occupied with only our individual selves before,

Both can't help but feel emptier now.

Much emptier.

But it's not too terrible.

We've still got the call,

And I've got my shirt,

Which still smells like you.