“Let’s go.”

We were in your car.
We were drinking coffee.
I cannot remember what
we talked about;
what words we used
to fill the silence.
Outside the river rushed
and the stars blinked lazily,
like they could tell it was
two in the morning.
And still, there was laughter,
our hot breath fogging up
the windows.
In the remnants of November
we were going just to go.
Your hand in mine —
the moon —
there was no better excuse.
We were going just to go.

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