Published in Calliope, © February, 2015 Deletion We sat across from each other, as we drank our Irish whiskey, handed the glass back and forth, while we talked in the dim light of the overflowed pub, you stretched your arm across the wooden table as I sipped from the glass, my pint of India pale, I grasped your fingers, lifted your hand, felt static shock when my mouth tattooed a lip shaped beer stain on the back of your skin.... or we snapped photographs, of sunflower gardens, as we laughed together, and I loved…. I want to delete you from my computer, but like some self-flagellating emotional masochist… I can't. Nathan Tompkins
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