Yes, I am sitting alone
On the high, spindly legs
Of this rickety seat
Elbows delicately perched
Between pools of spill
Pretending I'm absorbed
In the dizzying back-and-forth
Of a tennis match.
Yes, I am not speaking
To anyone here, at this bar,
Just focused on the screen
As incessant chatting swirls,
Sipping from a plastic flute of
Grapefruit and champagne,
A cocktail with a name
Nobody remembers.
Yes, I am intensely aware
Of your presence steps away,
Because the timbre of your voice
Slips through the racket
And creeps into my ears,
Where it rattles the canals,
Drums an insistent beat
On each inner surface of me.
Yes, I am longing to turn
Away from the tedious volleys,
Pulling myself through the air,
A mere meter of space between
Us, and slip my hand beneath
The surface of your laundered shirt
And press against the skin there,
There that covers your heart.
On the high, spindly legs
Of this rickety seat
Elbows delicately perched
Between pools of spill
Pretending I'm absorbed
In the dizzying back-and-forth
Of a tennis match.
Yes, I am not speaking
To anyone here, at this bar,
Just focused on the screen
As incessant chatting swirls,
Sipping from a plastic flute of
Grapefruit and champagne,
A cocktail with a name
Nobody remembers.
Yes, I am intensely aware
Of your presence steps away,
Because the timbre of your voice
Slips through the racket
And creeps into my ears,
Where it rattles the canals,
Drums an insistent beat
On each inner surface of me.
Yes, I am longing to turn
Away from the tedious volleys,
Pulling myself through the air,
A mere meter of space between
Us, and slip my hand beneath
The surface of your laundered shirt
And press against the skin there,
There that covers your heart.
No comments:
Post a Comment