She doesn't like the bartender,
telling me he's rude,
when I suspect something else,
making me cross the
street
to another bar where we can
have the drink she says she needs
after such a long hard day at the office.
This is our second clandestine
meeting in Hometown
where nobody can keep secrets and
we -- no doubt -- are being seen
by people who know us
even if we don't know
them,
she sipping her white wine
the way she had on our first time,
though she seems less
open this time,
as if she needs to keep secret
other things she's
not yet told me about,
and I can only guess
about the details
and wonder what more she might have to say
after all she's already said,
her life like a Pandora's box,
the lid of which is
barely cracked open,
and hints of other,
even dangerous things
she needs to trust me much,
much more to ever reveal.
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