My left leg
is draped
across my right.
I know that
pretty soon
the pins and needles
will take hold.
Starting in the
fold behind my knee
and slithering into
a tiring ankle.
I don't much mind.
The rhythmic shake of
a nervous left foot
is mirrored,
as my right hand
finds my lip
and feels in earnest
for a loose flake
of dry skin
to pry off.
It will probably hurt.
I don't much mind.
I've fixed my eyes on
an empty stool,
analyzing the pattern.
Imagining the feel.
Imagining you;
What you'll say
when you get here.
To be honest...

I don't much mind.