Fast Flying Train Tracks

Tad random, but a collection of thoughts for the persona, about a new romance while on a train.

There is a secret in the corner of my mouth.
Look: the world has changed colour overnight,
flourishing in the midst of a sleeping sun.

And since when did train tracks fly so fast?
Fields blur, becoming tossing green sprays,
and flowers merge into vibrant hues:
splashes of reds, yellows, clear blues.

You are under my nails, caught up in my hair.
Your conjurer's fingers are sweeping the land,
filling every nook. No space for a thought.

And I am spinning starlight from my memories,
capturing sounds in a jar. Already, our meeting
is a handprint on mine, cupped carefully in my grasp.

And do the people in the carriage know?
See my reflex smile, the wild glint in my eye?
Are their noses too buried in papers and books?

Listen, sad strangers, I will show you a trick:

Breathe, sigh soft on a window pane. Trace the contours
of their name like slight silk under fingertips,
feel their face, their upturned mouth, their very mind
through the curve of a vowel, the tip of a letter.
And here is the magic:
It will always be alive in you, nestled and warm, long, long after it fades.

The End

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