the loneliness of the long distance diner

the loneliness of the long distance diner

the crisp, white linen

almost holds my gaze,

your empty chair –

silent in the flickering

light.

we dine

by sunset,

words unformed,

fresh thoughts, still

delicate and elusive;

safe.

for we haven’t found one another

yet.

i can hear

an imagined conversation,

giggled over pasta.

me, speaking my part,

before soundlessly mouthing yours.

this is how

we talk long into the night.

we leave, tumbling

into persistent rain.

sudden closeness,

like shelter

neatly in step.

later,

lying tangled and spent,

we cool ourselves

with chill window air.

we are still laughing

our own soft song,

when the whistle

of the street-cleaners,

ushers in thursday.