Before we met April 9, 2015

 

 

This is the time of year when we finally met, even though we often passed each other on hall or stairs, ships in the night, trapped in stuffy meetings, when those things I sometimes through when seeing you in the before life started to come true, your long legs stretched down from the barstool later, your slanted lips glistening between sips of wind, almost real, almost those things I imagined in the fall when we barely knew each other, those tautly visions of laying you down on the table top, pressing again the lift of your chest, unreal because merely imagined then almost real, a sip of wind, and then outside, in-between the puffs of smoke –a very real kiss, stolen, perhaps to you a surprise, when it never was for me.