like crinkled corners on postcards,
and hot chai tea running down your throat on a Tuesday night;
like oversized armchairs;
and soft, wide grins on faces of strangers;
like greasy pastel smudges,
and bundles of brightly-colored scarves tossed in the air;
like Saturday night fundraisers,
and the sunny stretch of 280 with the wind on your face;
like poets in basements,and the rosy warmth in a face well-slept;
like fudge brownies,
and tired hands folding gently into place.
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