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I drive back to our new place from the local Westfield 
with a boot full of soft furnishings, take 
a left turn at the usual intersection when the lights 
go green and this is where—
when you’re driving—I reach my hand across 
into your lap and you 
rest yours on mine
alone I change lanes/I feel for you/I want

the gravity of this habit, the pull of you 
in my muscle memory (you
spark synapses on roads I take on an otherwise 
forgettable Monday!) is a feeling
I never thought would move me like this this moment is a
home is a jade egg in my mouth that I hold 
what I’m saying is home is speaking your name
is the familiar smell of your neck after
I’ve been away, is the sound of you making coffee for me in the morning
home isn’t these streets but the place where your fingers 
hit mine

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About the author:

Ashleigh Watson

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Ashleigh is a sociologist and writer based in Sydney. She makes So Fi Zine and is the Fiction Editor of The Sociological Review. She tweets at @awtsn.

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