I order a burger and Coke.

I could stay in the bar

and wait for the order to come up

and take it outside myself,

but I ask her to.

 

She’s running food.

I want to see her alone

just for a few seconds;

that’s all it’d be, that’s all I’d need.

 

With my bag and pint, I walk outside.

I sit, roll a cigarette, swig some Coke.

From my bag comes Fante.

Nicotine diffuses in my lungs.

That familiar cranial rush calms my nerves.

 

In my peripheral I see her walk

into the dusk, carrying my dinner

and someone else’s.

I take a drag and don’t look up. She puts the plate

in front of me. Fante folds in my lap.

 

I look up, smile, and mouth something

appreciative;

she looks at me

and speaks words so soft

they barely leave

her parted lips, borne away

on twilit winds. Her eyes

tell me more than those words

ever could.

 

For only a second

we’re locked in time, staring

into each other completely, searching

for what’s wanted.

 

It’s happened before but

not like this. This is different.

It’s a moment of rarity

where a myriad of possibilities abound

along that line of sight, where the future

creeps back in time

and taints the boundaries of the present

with promises of something else, something

more.

 

The moment passes

and she walks back into the bar,

one plate and few words lighter.

The fading light no longer lights up

her ethereal features yet I see them,

see her,

still,

in the halls

of my memory, draped

in sepia, near perfect, where

the passing of time

can only make her

more beautiful.

 

 

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