Tracks

Diverging Tracks

 

He sat across the aisle from me,

his iPod on, his fingertips

in fitful contact with his phone,

uncertainty played on his lips.

 

They were the shape of a kiss.

 

Mine parted, and I silently drew

breath and watched. His head inclined,

then by surprise he glanced at me

with fixed intent; his eyes met mine.

 

My breath, and time, stopped dead just then;

that moment when our paths were crossed.

He lingered, then his eyes cast down.

He turned away and all was lost.

 

Converging Tracks

 

He sat across the aisle from me,

his iPod on, his fingertips

in fitful contact with his phone,

a half-smile playing on his lips.

 

They were the shape of a kiss.

 

Mine parted, and I silently drew

breath and watched. His head inclined,

then by surprise he glanced at me

with fixed intent; his eyes met mine.

 

My breath, and time, stopped dead just then;

that moment when our paths were crossed.

He held my gaze and then he spoke.

“Hello” he said. My heart was lost.

 

25 July 2017

Author: Circa Mea Pectora

Poet

1 thought on “Tracks”

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