Crumpled into irregular shapes
By hands that no longer rest
On this table; tinted vibrant
But partially hidden pink
By lips whose marks have
Been washed from their last glass.

Were they the lips that gave me
Thanks I did not deserve as
I breathlessly climbed the stairs?
Were they hands that came here
To be steadied as they weighed up
Unappealing options?

It is artistically yet
Accidentally juxtaposed with
Beer mat, ketchup bottle, drink promo;
I cannot bring myself to disturb
So prosaic yet unusual a
Combination: a happy intersection
Of drama and circumstance.

In any case, our worlds are
Separate, and should remain so:
Those hands, those lips, have touched
My life, but I cannot touch
Theirs, or let their owner know
That their spirit lingered here
After their presence departed.

Instead, I fashion their impact
Into words, as is my way,
And silently pass on the gratitude
That I was not due to one
Far more deserving than me.

10/15/2019

Posted on 11/24/2019
Copyright © 2024 Richard Vince