5:37AM

On a clear evening with the moon glowing like this
She asked me to write her a poem,
That was an offer that I just simply could not resist
By sunrise I thought of stanzas solely meant for her eyes
Yet, also worthy of a literary First Prize
Her smile still freshly sealed in my mind
I put pencil to paper and went in on my grind
Stitching together sentences hand crafted one of a kind
Making sure her essence lingered in every last line
Words swinging on a summer dance floor
Floating effortlessly through the night
On a clear evening with the moon glowing this bright
Going off feeling and not “wrong” or “right”
Words I might never publish or even recite
Finished up the poem as birds began chirping
Just before dawn
Keeping in mind like she came in,
She’ll one day be gone
So your poem now my gesture documenting when
The curiosity was active and still mutually strong

FLING

For just a few seconds I fell in love, again
And even though the feeling was a flagrant façade
She became a book I was certain I had begun reading years prior
I again pondered the perplexities of timing and fate
When what I craved were heavy words through novel,
A short story in poetic form is what I received
The story line simple, I began to feel like Pietro Crespi
And smiled to the point that my cheeks began to hurt
I said, “I haven’t smiled this genuinely in weeks if not months”
Separated by a pitcher of beer
She returned a quaint smile and said it was okay
Literature once again personified,
A path I never expect but always hope to cross
If only for a few hours, like we’d been old lovers
That never fully said good bye or never chose to make amends,
And through destinies hand casually met once again
I read her to the rhythm of a sonnet though her actions were all prose
In her gaze I felt as if years had been lived in a matter of minutes,
Over beer and conversations about words and their value
Strangers met, bonded, knew what to keep unsaid
Confronting my curiosity head on and received a welcome
Only to leave each other’s side within one literary breathe
The television on the wall showed sports highlights,
The clients in the dim room in their worlds chatting and laughing
And for a few seconds I almost fell in love again
With a short story that I never fully finished reading
A short story that sat across the table
A short story I’d promised myself long ago to complete
Temporarily stopped by a poetic fling,
I felt the need to compose for her a poem that took years to develop
And at that table presented its final draft ending
So I could finally finish the overdue book long since lost
And I did just that. No tragic ending, with my cheeks still hurting
I recited the final stanzas of a poem that to her I’m sure made no sense
Yet to me meant the return to a short story I’d almost forgotten