The closest I’ve ever been;
we met for drinks, a friend of a friend.
I took her hand (she had incredible skin),
said my name is, yours is?
I made her laugh; she drank like a man (gin).
I admired her shimmering smile, mine more a grin.
Again I took her hand (was this too fast?),
we talked about the present, past.
The table hid our knees, in secret brushing.
Our eyes met, my god, so cliché, both blushing.
I pondered War and Peace, she didn’t get it.
Well…that was quick.
My fickleness an unrelenting spring,
falling in and out of love: the damndest thing.
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4 comments:
Sounds more in the realm of "something like it". Perhaps smitten would be a better term. Or Jonesin'. If a lack of understanding War and Peace merits the diminishing of your feelings, its not love. Though, I do believe I could love a girl simply based on her aptitude regarding Russian writers... So I'd probably be right there with you. Did you at least make out with her? You better have, or else you are big deedle...
So who was said girl?
...and then she told me that Pol Pot was misunderstood.
The romance that was, you'll never forget. The romance that is...
Noah has become a poet...
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