tonguing his cankersore 'til the shiver of sting
is nearly tolerable, xavier holds his palms in front of him as he walks
the cobbled street, opens them like cups catching rainwater off turrets, jet streams
and gutter waste drowning in gulps over his rough skin,
intermingling streams of dirt and decay mix deliciously--
he watches the cascade.
xavier is tired and mild/lonely.
thirty and loverless, a hole in his trench coat.
his pleasure?
to tickle the rip with his taped finger and widen the tear.
an unseen pocket secret.
he steps largely over puddles and breathes
fast little bursts of air.
he is reminded of cigarettes and
and a day with his uncle.
he is not sure why his uncle has come to mind.
he is content to know that visible things might spark
calming reminders for maybe no reason at all.
he heads towards the cafe, behind a woman with
waves in her hair. as he climbs the step to the door
he kneels forward, smells candy corn and papaya.
he orders a dark espresso and waits,
resting his hip on a stand of magazines
thumbing the pages of an art-nouveau
one eye over the top of the spread
to examine the woman with candy corn hair.
she is reluctantly pretty with circles under her eyes.
one pant-leg falls over her thick black boots
while the other is tucked away at the calf.
she wears no makeup, but applies fervently colorless
balm from a circular tin to her lips.
she does not look at him.
he is hiding behind whisps of his own haphazard hair
the woman regarded as honey and starch,
when she reached for her tea just beside him.
he waits to hear her voice.
he decides that if she speaks in high tones, sweetly and precise
he will watch her leave and never think of her again.
when taking her change she nods shyly,
mutters a "thanks" xavier decides is pleasantly deep.
he leaves just five paces behind her so that his
nostrils may flirt with her aroma,
and that the scent of their bodies and heads
might dance a round or two.
three blocks up and one avenue over
she stops to turn around, sees xavier and his coffeecup
so similar to that which carries her own tea.
she examines him.
she reaches over and tugs soft the collar of his coat
and folds it in her gloved fingers.
she is surprised by herself, to be so forward.
she timidly smells his hair and nods.
yes, it is him.
she turns around and continues her walk.
he follows five paces behind.

11/01/2007

Posted on 11/02/2007
Copyright © 2024 Lauren Singer