I saw a new couple on the subway today.
Her arms were loosely draped around his neck,
Closer to him than his red paisley scarf.
Their legs fit together like puzzle pieces,
Lips locked in perfect unison.
Eyeglasses showing each other’s
Lovesick reflections;
He looked at her like she was Athena,
An infatuated smile never leaving his face.
They giggled quietly,
And for twenty minutes
They were no longer
Beneath grimy Boston streets.
It was Eden,
A utopia of butterflies
And freshly-brushed teeth.

But as I sat in my seat,
No lover of my own to kiss like that,
I wondered how long their honeymoon phase would last.
I watched her get off,
Watched them wiggle their fingers goodbye,
And watched his smile linger for a few minutes,
Then fade.

How long until her stop
Becomes his?
How long until their bodies separate
Into a gentle holding of hands?
How long until that too,
Like every predictable platform,
Becomes routine?
How long until they finally sit down?
How long until her stop
Becomes hers alone?