Fingermarks on the Glass

If I took a sip for every thought of you...

Too many drinks make a hazy head –

A thin line ‘tween clarity and peering through a traffic of images

For the harmony of your tenor,

For a stupid, goofy grin

We both once shared.

In drabs, our souls drip away;

Though the clear transparency of your tone

Mingles with my opaque dossier,

One look is not as simple as one glance used to be.

Reliving through a blanket shell,

The “mirror darkly”, the apt quote,

Now feelings fracture the edge of new circumstances.

I collect them in a decanter,

You see, for my pleasure

At reconvening evidence, pocketing it

Like copper coins. You abandoned

Your place at one whisper –

Hold on to sailors' hats! He’s done it again! –

Yet, simultaneously, you crept away

Into a veiled concept like a spice element amongst my dew,

Performed a tidy show for all the eyes,

But neglected my introspective, skip-a-beat type care.

Instead, I play with the remains of my alcohol.

I thought I heard a strain of some lyric once –

In the dark, that sound might be you –

Or it was a simplified version of hope,

Threaded by some Demon

With a promise of a sweeter success

With a headache.

Forget the chorus and the organ

Or the “operas and musicals” in mountains of my taste;

I want to hear your solo,

And the lightness in your cocktail accent,

And your questions – unimposing for now –

And every word, unspoken, that will follow.

An affair of the soul, indeed!

If flirtation begins, the thirst must be quenched;

If one eye closes, it must be opened by the other.

I drain the last of the second cup,

And the memory of your smile

Is nothing more than fingermarks on the glass.

The End

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