Archives for posts with tag: infatuation

I

Come in, I say, even though we’re outside

         come in. Our own little world

where the sun still shines—

                                    the sky in your eyes—

but no one else is here. Just us

and some coffee

and a half-empty pouch of tobacco, enough

              to get me through the weekend.

 

I can see my self in your eyes.

                                    Does that

                                    make me vain?

I ask.

         You blush. Shades of pale red surfacing

on your porcelain skin. You’re beautiful.

                                    Does it?

Furrowed brow, you look away. Silence. Unmoving.

I roll a cigarette and place it under a lighter in front of you

                  and roll another. You light mine then yours,

staring

                                    into the dark distance.

 

II

A fire burning warmly in a clearing surrounded

         by autumnal foliage.

                           Come sit with me.

You do. You sit. You don’t look cold

         Aren’t you cold? You don’t answer

                                    but stare into the flames,

mind lost in thought. Where are you? I ask,

                                    silently.

Face flushed, you’re warm. Your own fire

         burns brightly

                           somewhere.

You came here as a favour

to see what you could see

         in my flames, beautiful pyromancer.

                           You’ll leave soon. I know this.

What if will always lose to what is,

and someone waits at your own fire wondering where

                  you’ve gone.

 

III

Glass walls and social constructs, that’s all

that separates us. That

                  and an insurmountable distance measured

by an unrequited infatuation, and all the words

                           I never said or wrote.

But one day, it might be different.

                  One day, I might write you

and tell you all the things I want to tell you.

                           One day, we might meet under desirous circumstances

and the dry leaves and the branches

will be devoured by the flame

and together we’ll watch it burn.

                                    One day.

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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