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Time Slowed Down |
I sit here at an anonymous table
in an anonymous hotel
eating bad scrambled eggs
and drinking good coffee.
You are at home.
I watched you last night,
your hand large and humble
took stock of your body
before leaving.
Your fingers touched
your stomach lightly,
here, there, whether
to trace the route I
had taken or see what
streaks you wore
hard I do not know.
No breath, not even a whisper
you were so silent in your
inventory.
Then the hand to your chest,
listening to your heart,
the heart that propels you
to leave, the pulse that
keeps time to your feet
walking away.
You did not touch your face,
that was for me to do.
I did not get the chance.
I could not intrude.
And in that muted moment
I loved you more.
copyright 2009
Tobi
Cogswell |
