Not the Usual Kind

You said

you don’t like dating apps,

but that’s where I found you,

hiding behind a photo

where your smile barely fit.

Your beard looked soft—

not trimmed, not staged,

just the kind of messy

you run your fingers through

without asking.

We didn't talk in code,

we didn’t rush to undress.

You asked what my favorite season was.

You said yours was autumn

because the air smells like beginning.

No one tells you

how strange it feels

when kindness is what flirts first.

Like—I noticed the way

you touch coffee cups

like they might feel it.

Or how you text with dots

because silence is too sharp.

I don't know what this is,

or what we’re becoming,

but I like how you listen.

How you call me

"weird, but in a good way."

And yeah,

your beard still looks soft.

Maybe I’ll ask to touch it

on the third date.

Maybe not.

But I’ll still write poems

like I already did.