Behind Closed Doors and Brown Eyes

The Lindens stand above,
Between storm and street,
With reaching arms that
quietly stretch to fingers.

Hands hold the space
filled with damp air,
Drops of rain sharing
a touch, but not the other.

How love openly hides
when in open streets,
And longs for the
closing of bright doors.

There, fingers meet and
spill their thoughts that
had followed at a distance,
Freed from closing fear.

The Lindens stand above,
Between storm and street,
With reaching arms that
quietly stretch to fingers.

behind closed doors and brown eyes

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