Sunday, June 18, 2017

Foreign Exchange

The coordinates of our affair are clustered in a three mile radius from this very point.
Stolen kisses on elevators, during short trips between offices
An exchange of confidential memos with tracked changes
Rendered invisible on command.
No one saw when you pushed me against skyscrapers in crowded streets
And buried my protests between your lips.
I felt Barcelona in the contrast of our skin tones.
The way your esteem rose with every passerby, while mine sank.
We turned public spaces into hiding places, as if the sound of a fountain,
As if the bitter autumn wind could blanket us, like night, a wall, a bed.
Aggravated by the casual come ons of other hungry men, you said "tell them you are mine"
And I would have, if it had not been a lie.
We spoke of belonging the way we spoke of leaving, like we needed more.
More than this love, than this yearning. More than this moment in time.
We merged into each other urgently, deliberately, the way one walks off a plane and into customs
With all our essentials on our backs.
But the wait. Oh, the wait.
I'll remember that instant when I stood at the border hopeful but exhausted, turned over my passport, and searched your eyes nervously for permission to cross it.
Maybe it was my hesitation and not yours, that made me turn back and keep walking.
But somehow, I couldn't cross it, wouldn't. Never did.
Everything we shared perished, left no traces.
It was the contract we adhered to, yet never signed.
You slept through the storms that kept me awake, in a home I would never set foot in,
Embracing a woman I'd never replace.

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