Walking through, you too are on display.
All of us, visitors, observing, studying, interpreting
what we see, trying to find meaning
and connection. I quietly study you studying.
And I pencil sketch our life together.
You were sitting just two rows ahead
at the poetry reading, listening so intently
that you didn’t notice your sweater slipped
off your shoulder. I noticed. Soft skin
perfumed by a sonnet made of air.
She stirs her coffee like her emotions,
adding sweeteners, sometimes artificial, sometimes quite real.
Cream to soften the bitterness, the bite,
which is what attracted and repelled me.
That burning tongue taste you must have.