She met me on the street,
all smiles and flipping hair,
she held her backpack in one hand
a cigarette in the other,
they both fell to the ground
as she threw her hands around my neck.
I pulled her close,
her curves pushing tight against me,
my arms tight around her waist
as our faces were buried
in each others neck.
I smelled her shampoo
and fresh sweat from the desert air,
a hint of cigarette smoke
and fabric softner
completed the bouquet.

Her body starts to shake,
she pulls me closer
and I hear her try to speak
though she doesn’t lift her face from my neck.
I do not need to know the words,
I can feel what she is saying
in the way she trembles
and pulls on my clothing,
trying to get me as close as she can
and I know the days have been rough
and that the time is more than the distance between us.

She shakes because she is home,
even if home is no single place,
but in my arms.

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