with a desperately quick–“wait”–! in the golden
brown bricked coffee house with her hair curling over her eyes
and her palms warmed to perfect cosmopolitan happiness by hands cupping
coffee & hands cupping at fragile hopes which already written themselves
into great chronicles in her soul: she can already see them: friends, first,
then maybe lovers, her graceful drooping eyes falling onto his shoulder after yet
one more film-night with snow whispering outside the window and
steamed chocolate still thick in her throat and his throat thick with things
he maybe wants to say and do, his fingers brushing against her sleeping cheek.
But they have not even met yet.
So infinity is in the coffee-house “wait”–! and his odd mannerisms making him from a
fictional boy into a real one, smiling at her with an intelligence she expected and a fully
masculine self-possession that she did
not expect & likes all the same
(because it is in the best way, because he knows himself like the ancients did, she
thinks). she is nervous
she does not know what he is saying
and neither does he
his smile brings her floating sharply out of her head and into sudden late-night reality
because her speaking up and being the one to talk to him first
and they shook hands & he left but she sits there, alone, smiling, with her hands fluttering
up to cover her mouth.
It is a beginning. It is everything. It is maybe
nothing, no future, but still.
she said “–wait–“!