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In the history
of my heart
you are the only man
who can call me
at 7:42 p.m.
while I’m making my way
to the bus stop
in the middle of the rain
after a long, hard day
and can be sure
I will pick up
and stop at that very spot
on the sidewalk
and talk to you
standing under my umbrella
on four-inch-high Charles & Keith pumps
for as many hours as
you feel like talking

the immediate day,
the rock-salt-infused reality
falling away
the sweetness of your
virtual company
diffusing in osmosis
around my soul

and nothing else matters
the hours of the waning day
shifting like a continent of moments
while I talk to you
oblivious of the elements
of lateness and discomfort

only you
have that effect on me
but you failed
to appreciate it

how regrettable
for the both of us:
I wasted my time
and you wasted your chance
.

raincitynight
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