Watching her walk away
across the parking lot,
away from the bed, bath and beyond,
away from the old navy,
away from me,
I knew she’d be in my head
far longer than she should be.
I knew I’d be replaying that afternoon
as the on-demand movie in my head.
I had that fucker queued and ready to help
make my drive to Pittsburgh
easier.
Should’ve known better than to trust
my technology; to trust a playback ritual
that I’ve not yet perfected.
Watching her walk away,
across the parking lot,
I would have bet pints of blood
that I would be daydreaming about
that ass or about those
fantastically exposed collarbones.
Not that inexplicable flash of cardinal
running through her eyes
when the cloud cover interrupted
the mid-day sunlight while we sat there;
laughing nervously face to face,
instead of confidently hitting “Send” and
ripping through the ether with false bravado.
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