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.

Darkness slowly encroaching.
A small island of light, illuminating her hands.
An office chair moving back and forth as she talks, animating her conversation with gestures.

Half smiles, one mocking, the next conspiratorial.
Eyes that flash between shyness and flirtation.
Her neck, smooth and perfect.
He rises, and walks to the back of the chair, standing behind her.
Joking but not joking about watching her, about wanting her.
About touching her.

Freeze that moment.
No, not freeze. the word is too cold in this too long winter.
Hold still, and listen to the expectation in the silence.
Sense the breathing, chests gently rising and falling.
Watch skin flush slightly red as they pause.

Feel their knowledge...

Will she turn?
Will she ever turn?

Night-hand reaches out, enclosing, mystic, strange,
Dissolves into the air, breathing silent change.

Eyes clutch aimlessly at reflections of the grey;
Like quiet ripples, life fades away

Occasionally you meet someone who takes your breath away.
And then you must decide: "would it be right to say?"
Would it be right to mention, to tell her how you feel?
Or best avoid emotion. Stay silent. Don't reveal...?

In fact, I've no agenda. Nothing I expect...
Just want to introduce myself, perhaps win her respect.
And tell her that she's beautiful; to me she is a vision,
And if that makes her happy then I've made the right decision.

I said it! Oh... She's sceptical, she's heard it all before.
The older guy starts being nice, then suddenly wants more.
I tell her I'm professional. A gentleman, and pure.
I'll never cross the boundary; of that she can be sure.

She trusts me... When I'm next in town she does agree to meet!
She brings me to a bar that's high above the busy street,
A view that is spectacular; I take her for a drink
A chance to tell our stories, to make her laugh and think.

I promised her this poem. Now finally, it's sent.
I use these lines to open up and tell her what I meant....
When I told her "you're beautiful" the truthful reason why -
Was meeting her above the world, and seeing her smile high...

I know what she will say.
She will say: she has moved on, found another, there is no return.
I know what I will say.
I will say: I understand, there is no other way, and I will learn.

I know what she will feel.
She will feel: regret and pity for me; but the shadow of her new love protects
I know what I will feel.
I will feel: regret and pity for me; but the shadow of her new love projects.

I know what she will do.
She will: leave, silently, sadly, having said her piece.
I know what I will do.
I will: sit, silently, sadly, having lost my peace.

I know where she will go.
She will go: to him.
I don’t know where I will go.

give me five minutes i said and
the glass, notempty, stared back
   americans at the bar
   refused to be quiet
as the poem forced itself through the belgian air
brussels they said is where
it all comes together - the barmaid, watching me silently, agrees
       difficult not to see that 0-0 result as a judgment, a prediction an omen

no score?

i'd hoped for more

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.