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Graham Nunn

On The Bus

In the sharp morning air the traffic roared. She and I were close. Less than a finger's length separated our bodies.

The bus that would make us late for work loomed on the horizon.

Without altering the distance between us, she switched her stance and faced me. I shuffled my feet, cocked my head and stepped forward. Catching my timing perfectly she moved, her breasts brushing against my arm. Exposed and vulnerable we climbed aboard.

on the bus
a hot stab of need
cools into longing

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