Four months ago you worked across the room from me
six hours a day
five days a week
and I thought, "I'd like a man like that."
Except I already had one nothing like you,
and integrity trumps all.
Two weeks ago
it all changed.
Suddenly I was by myself in the bigger picture,
and with you in the smaller one--
across a table for yet another friendly lunch,
another forty minutes of secretly feeling sixteen.
I watched your shy eyes smile in that different way
and wondered if it was moving fast
or just moving closer to home.
and real laughter combine
to make unfamiliar deja vu.
I remember this,
or at least remember what I wanted once
before I traded it for what I thought I needed.
You think I'll be sick of you soon.
"Anytime now," you laugh as you kiss my forehead
and I close my eyes so my sense of touch
overtakes everything else.
You don't want what everyone wants,
the quick satisfaction of lust dressed as
You don't want the lust at all, and
that scares me.
The last time I felt like this,
four years took a piece of me and
left a jagged piece of him.
You still sit across a room
six hours a day,
five days a week.
You raise your eyebrows at me
in one of those little faces you make
because you're too bashful sometimes to just smile.
That's all right.
I'm smiling enough for us both.