I would be bored with you almost immediately
after watching you chew your words
before spitting them out.

I would be bored with you from then on.

From that point,
I would lie to you,
cheat on you,
avoid keeping appointments,
dates, recitals and lunch dates
among the passing street-life.

But you would be there,
despising my indifference,
ranting to the ceiling
and the ghosts of past inflictions,
waiting for the call,
knowing Andre would bring the phone,
because he loves me,
because you love me,
because he hates you loving me
every lazy summer afternoon.

I will be late,
if I come at all.
I will discard your tab
so Andre finds you later out of change,
and stakes you the bill because of me,
and knowing I return
to meet another you.

I met you here,
once upon a predatory afternoon,
spent lazing in my French,
and coffee strong as sexual lure.

12/17/2010

Posted on 12/18/2010
Copyright © 2025 Timothy Somers