Fleeting were the moments, that they could call their own.
Secretive, the rendezvous; no time to be alone.
Passionate, the contact. So hot and sweet and tense.
Liquid, the exchange... affecting every sense.

Now, losing the connection, they look back at the dream.
They question the affection that made those moments seem
The focus of obsession. As days and weeks advance
He has just one more question: "Does he have one Last Chance?"

He looks out of the window, a cityscape in view...
Is he alone? For ever? Can what he did be true?
Watching the silent sunset, he is beautiful and free.

You are out there, somewhere.

I'm here. Just me.

Is this boring? Is this sad? Is this life I lead so bad?
To see the world through windows...Is a glimpse all that I've had?
As I try to mark the seasons, leaves change from green to red
And I try to know the reasons, but I raise questions instead...

I rush my way through airports, from taxis to hotels,
From conference to coffee rooms; perhaps there's nothing else?
Perhaps all that we ever see, is never really true,
And the best that we can hope for is a window with a view...

She cried. I don't know why:
I was confused, I waited.
I tried to kiss her eyes,
I felt used, I contemplated

Lots of actions; none seemed right
I left her body, moved away.
By her reaction perhaps I might
Have seen I shouldn't stay.

She wouldn't talk. I didn't ask.
I dressed and watched her face.
She tidied, she had her mask
Held rigidly in place,

And I could not see through it.
She asked me quietly to leave,
Forever. I didn't do it:
How could I believe

She wanted me to go?
I was hers for the taking.
I wonder, does she know

I'm breaking?

I like the thought of silence
Of talking without words
I like the thought of listening to you

I like to watch your inner peace
When formulating thoughts
I like the way you tell me what you do

I like to take you in my arms
And hope to put things right
To put behind me everything I’ve said

I like the way you seem so calm
When we’ve just had a fight
I like to think that I am in your head

I like the way my fantasies
Take us both on a ride
A journey which I want us both to share

I like the way your clear bright eyes
Can look at me inside
I like it... that you are there.

Let the sweet snow touch your sad eyes
Let the darkness hide the pain
Let my kisses serve to make you wise
Let us dream this, once again.

Chicago is
beautiful
in the snow
she shivers
at the bar
sees him
she didn't know he'd be there
secretly he planned this
they greet
he sits at the bar
buys her a drink
cocktail
he drinks prosecco
they talk
she's still cold
makes a comment about never getting warm
he hesitates
convincingly
then suggests
he could warm her
silence
long silence
she looks ahead
not meeting his eyes
turns
says softly
ok
he stands
takes her hand
a gentleman
no words
silence
takes her through the lobby
leading her
holding only *******
she follows
not resisting
thinking she should
but not acting
the elevator
their eyes don't meet
fingers barely touching
9th floor
room
door opens
they step inside
close the door
she turns
he holds her tight
one hand on the back of her head
the other her waist
her face on his shoulder
holding
warming
communicating
without words
or movement
she looks up
his eyes are closed
she asks
"what are you thinking?"
he says...

"Are you not woman enough to know?"

Relishing a challenge
Requiring deeper thought;
Refining my assumptions
Re: all that I’ve been taught.
Relying on my memory (!)
Recalling what we’ve seen,
Realising I feel close to you, my
Rhapsody in Green.
Rewarding, this connection,
Resolving to be bold,
Risking just a little step -
Relief I’m not too old…?
Removing all the prison bars
Results in…. I don’t know?
Romancing may be just a game –
Resist? Or let it flow?
Rich here, my confusion,
Richer still, your eyes…
Rushing I fall into them so
Rashly. Is that wise?
Recovering, I feel better -
Regrets? I’ve none so far.
Reply with just one letter?
You
R

"It's a story of obsession." Sophie said, not able to look her friend in the eyes.

"The trouble is, I'm not sure whose obsession".

She stared at her espresso, stirring it absent-mindedly with the spoon. Eva looked worried, and studied her carefully. She had noticed a change in Sophie over the last few days, and they had finally found time to sit and talk. Her interrogation had begun in a light tone of voice, an easy
approach...

"...so who is he? have you slept with him yet?"…

Sophie’s reaction had been surprising - not the amused grin she had expected - much more a defensive glare, as if the question had been rude: and they had quickly decided to go for a coffee in the city.

And now, in a pavement café somewhere in the anonymous downtown, she listened to the start of the story.

"I've hardly seen him" Sophie continued "and I don't know if I ever will properly…".

She hesitated.

"I don't even know if I want to see him…".

"It is almost as if I am a character in a story; sometimes I feel like he is manipulating me, creating emotions within me that I didn't know I could feel… and I hate him for that. I mean he hasn't touched me… he hasn't even said he wants to touch me. The relationship, this thing, has gone from a harmless flirt to…"

She shook her head. Eva didn't say anything. She waited. Around them, she could hear city traffic noises, birdsong and snippets of conversation from passers-by.

Sophie raised her head and looked directly at her friend. Her face was set. She said in a low but firm voice

"it needs to stop before I lose control, but..."

" … what?" said her friend softly.

"I need to know what happens next"

If you were to read our story backwards
It would tell the story of how you held me as we slept
How happy we could be with nothing but empty time and a bed
How we kissed, but only a few times and only  real quick
How we ignored how we felt, how we brushed it off
Or how we would talk on the phone until one of us would nod off
How we first met, how silly you must have thought I was
Until one day once upon a time, a long time ago
You forgot about me forever, I wasn’t someone you’d ever know.