and we met up, same place, seats still cold but comfy. Your cheeks were fuchsia pink from the squally breeze outside and I had one of my scarves wound around my neck, red and black like a chunk of childrenβs candy. The story you'd started was going well, ideas popping up as a villain would in a hackneyed horror film. I said a sporadic poem spilled onto the page but little else, just comatose dross. Twenty past, coffee swam over our teeth like sepia-bikinied swimmers. Somehow you were more beautiful but unaware of it, your hair brighter under the glare of the lights above. The youngest pair around, early twenties, 'whole life ahead.' How wrong. Our relationship a radiator that fails to heat up enough. Everybody has one. I'll write about you someday for sure. Some day.
Written: December 2012. Explanation: Poem written in my own time, intended as a follow-up to earlier piece 'It Was a Wednesday I Think'. NOT based on real events, but written with a specific individual in mind. Also available on my WordPress blog.