you

i think of you sometimes.
thoughts are allowed near you
now that they have learnt
not to dwell or fornicate with desire
and bear bastard expectations.

back then there was no time to contemplate.
love stabbed at my insides.all day long.
and i spent nights writhing in the pain
of the kernel of corn that never popped.

i never met you.
except in the need of a wilting flower.
the humiliation of triumph.
the fissures which once gave birth
to hot springs. 
in the crackle of trampled dead leaves.
the numbness of a familiar song. 
in the splayed vermillion mark of a new widow.

i never knew you.
except from stories trapped in unknown books
peering from windows of quaint shops.
in the cold spaces of a blanket warm
only where a body lies still.
at the zebra crossing awaiting a turn.
in the sound of boiling water
spilling over the flame.
from.blurred negatives of old photos
of things made useless.

now we sit across each other
paraphrasing.old.philosophers.
over steaming cups of tea 
you tell me of the great love of your life.
and i sit listening. Nodding.
and scalding my tongue.