I meet you at the terminus – at the start for me of something new
Coming up the steps my heart coughed when I glimpsed your jacket through the throng
I guess it’ll always recognize you.
You’re always shorter than I remember – smaller all round, somehow, even though I think you’ve grown
I suppose it’s the shrinking that happened in my mind
when my illusions burst and you deflated down to reality.
We find a café and sit down, the waiter buzzing round like a hesitant fly.
You fiddle with your fringe as we ordered drinks.
I’d forgotten how you did that with your hair.
A gentle weirdness pervades the tranquil scene
Two minds once so intimate slightly struggle to connect
But silence is always easy enough when you’ve been so close
and before long I’ve got you laughing, your eyes are flashing
I find myself revelling in their delicious, long-lost warmth.
We talk about my new beau, and I wonder if you know
that these flutters I feel for him were once for you –
and instantly, Britishly, sincerely hope you don’t.
“You’d like him”, I say, stifling a wry smile.
“You’ve got a lot in common.”
You return my smile.