it is time for you to go home.
you kiss me by the buses.
the caress of your cheek
is a palm full of water.
you say, see you later.
i will never grow
old of this feeling.
it sprouts up like flowers
between slabs of cement
and lingers, even in the snow.
when you get on, i wave
at you from the outside
of the foggy glass. cling
to the seconds it takes
for you to drive away.