Lunch? I remember that last lunch.
I spotted you through smoky glass
striding along the sidewalk. The
sight of you made my heart speed up.
But as you pulled open the door,
I saw instantly that a kiss
was out of the question. And so,
we walked downstairs to our table.
It hurt to stifle "I love you,"
to ask instead, "And how's your Mom?"
and hear about your Key West trip
as candlelight played in your hair.
And just before the check arrived,
you excused yourself. I wondered, with
a thrill, if I could join you for
a men's room kiss (or more).
Following you (following my
heart) was all but impossible
that day. And so, we split the check
and climbed the stairs without a word.
Outside, you broke the silence with
"That was fun. Let's do it again."
"You never can tell," I replied,
as I waved you out of my life.
