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Sunday at Bunkamura

She glances comfortably around herself;
she does not stare,
she does not look
for anything or anyone in particular.

I can not help but regard her here.

Intrigued by the beauty of the length of her neck,
and the way her chemise has been carelessly tucked into her skirt;
I have not moved, but she is moving me.

When her gaze meets my direction,
when her eyes seek past, but not at, me…

I hold my breath and wait…
for the shape of her lips to part,
like clouds that break in two.

And then I sigh, my sights falling to the ground…
only to find that her feet touch the ground, too.

I could pretend, presume to be someone she once knew.
An old friend, perhaps, a past whisper in her ear.
But then she speaks,
and the sound of her voice,
enamors me to stop.

I am in permanent blush.

She turns around again, then saunters off to somewhere else
off to someone else,
without any memory of me at all,
but leaving me with hers.

Posted by Invisibleye in: Poetry   Comments Off   31 August, 2009   Tags: Bunkamura

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