Friends
By birksy
One early day in August, when they still had not met, They passed so close they could kiss, He smelt her, breathed her in, let her out, But when he looked, he saw only crowds. The next time they met, they held hands at a séance neither wanted to be at, Trying to talk to whoever was there, And this time they breathed each other, but what could they say? The third time they met, they were alone in a lift And how he willed it to stop between the floors, But parting, she smiled and said ‘See you’, And both noted the day and the time. The fourth time they met, how they kissed, how they touched, If only it were deep in their minds, They clinked their wine glasses and toasted the past, Took their time to count down to one. The fifth time they met, was the first they’d arranged, And strangely they fought with every word they said, How reserved they both tried to be Parted the once, then came back for more. The sixth time they met, he carried a tray, On it eggs, bacon, bread and a flower, And how they laughed when they ate, kissed as the brilliant sun Rose in the hazy August sky. Written May 28th, 1998 © on Sep 02 2001 07:39 AM PST, Simon Birks 0 • 8
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"One early day in August, when they..."