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You got me writing
    love poetry
    on the margins of loose pages
    right next to matrix multiplications
    and hyperbolic paraboloids
You got me thinking
    kisses to the back of the neck
    and wandering fingers
    while I roll handmade pasta
    and get engulfed in
    puttanesca spices
You got me wanting
    long walks
    holding hands
    Casi Cielo drip coffee
    or Verona
    for an all-nighter conversation
    in the middle of the work week

and you have me so messed up
that hours are getting
mixed up on the clock
and days blend into each other
on the calendar

just because you said you’d call