She spoke from the heart and I tried to look at her,only in a way that was professional;
all I could see was her beauty;
her eyes and what I wanted them to say;
her lips and how I imagined kissing them;
her hair and how it made the attraction more appealing;
she spoke of her husband and I thought of my wife,
pretending neither of them existed;
And, as she read my poetry, I could see us as lovers,
merging our creativity into an expression of regret; yet,
we would write our feelings on paper, sharing the
intimacy of what we could not possibly have.
August 12, 1987
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