We’re Leaving

You look road-weary, my dear.
Worn out by the miles,
the miles that flew by under your feet.
I’d smile at you,
but you don’t need my smiles.
You need the pounding of the waves on sand,
the fourth day of sleeping in,
an iced tea.

I’ll lead you away from this party,
where we sit spinning
bottle caps in our palms.
Cling to the back of my shirt, or to my warm hand,
we’re leaving for home.

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