Difference

The sun sets like an overcoat,

falling gently, onto the shoulders of a lover.

You don't feel its soft weight.

Do you hear the footsteps of Mozart, Godard

and Beckett passing between us?

On this empty Oxford street. 

My heart skips a beat, 

and for one single moment,

I understand...

Then it is gone.

Fleeting! 

Fragile, as butterflies swept 

up in a storm.

 

I looked at you, mobile pressed to your ear again,

bags swinging, and your mouth making the

slow silent word, c-o-ffee.

In that second, I think, this can never

be, and I despise you for having such

wonderful eyes.

In the cafe, you talk of sex.

How you want to explore some things. 

I feel aroused, and sense your erotic femininity,

your love of life and the things that stir your soul. 

I smile and think...

How empty you must find me.  

Heading home. I see in the distance,

that giant mausoleum of sculptured

shape, your car park. 

I think of fucking you and the sounds and

scents of sex. You are beautiful 

and I am excited, but I am unhappy.

I know this boredom, our mutual loneliness.

Flowing between the unseen current of 

disparate souls. 

You load bags into the boot,

and chatter endlessley about holidays.

On the long drive back, 

to the building we share.