Strawberry and Lime | Poetry

His hands find mine over sticky beer
stained tables at the pub from our past.

I am nervous, outwardly erratic in my hand gestures
with my inability to stay still but
I am happy, comfortable.

Although he doesn't seem it,
I know his nerves are there
I can tell he feels it too
by the running of his thumb over car keys and
a scratch of his beard.

This hasn't been the longest we've been apart
but tonight feels more like a reunion than our
drunken encounter three months ago.

We have fallen back into how things used to be,
two puzzle pieces
finding that time and distance has not warped us of each other.

Despite this we are still trying to make our teenage selves fit
into our adult bodies and yet
we don't fumble when we talk.

I reach for him and him to me
like no time has passed since the first time
his hand found mine over a graffiti scribbled school desk in french class.

When his foot presses into my leg I briefly close my eyes and
indulge in the feeling
for I could be back in that high school classroom,
heart racing still, an embarrassed protest perched on my lips.

This time there are no false pretences
and his eyebrows raise as I join his side of the table and
one arm wraps around my shoulders as a hand finds my thigh.

I catch the barmaid side eye us but she is smiling
into the pint she's just pulled and
I smile to myself
as I memorise this everlasting moment.

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