We met awkwardly on the stairs
his apartment one flight up
door open, tv on
a world left firmly behind
Brooke, never one for only decoration
stood calmly, eyes fixed coldly
"he was hotter in the photo"
well loved hands, ones I'd known
passed over the reason for my revisit
well worn book
reopened my mind then to Kerouac's mind
and now to mine, frozen,
my planned wit, biting, left outside.