My Almost Lover

He walks with a decided beauty.

He is not rich, no, no, I don’t think so

No, he is rich in all ways but money

Yes, that’s it, he’s very wealthy now I look

Again. He is just rich in other ways.

His hair is longer and hangs around his

Ears, curls, chestnut, a white rag tucked

Into his waist band. His eyes and dark too.

They scan around gently and get with purpose, as if they are regarding something alive.

I’d ask his name, I really would, if this were a different time and a different place and I were a different person. I think this man is best regarded from a distance, yes, it’s better this way. This way I can just be the girl with the notebook, scribbling away, a vague watcher of this place filled with noise.

And he can just be himself, busy yet paced, careful yet careless, innocent yet guilty. I don’t know his name, I never will. It’s alright.

Don’t cry for me, dear reader.

He pours me a drink. You were better observed from a distance, my almost lover.

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