She’s too tall for him,
He’s too old for her:
There lies the greater problem.
Unmatched, unlikely,
Doomed to fail
Before even beginning.

 And yet...
Something there.

 She’s sensible,
He talks nonsense,
But listening’s her forte.
She loosens up and laughs,
His ramblings endearing-
Designed to be that way,
Or at least engaging.

 Engaging...

She would gladly be caught up
In his beautiful babbling,
Sit for hours just discussing “stuff”...
Like “how many degrees make a jaunty angle?”
(She says 33
He thinks it must be more than 90).

 Both passionate about different topics
And knowledgeable within them,
Although no coherent link could be drawn
Between their interests.

 Except one:
The music.

 Approaching the topic from different angles
(She 33 degrees, he more than 90)
But all the same, it’s something,
And that’s enough, she thinks.
There is a common ground within,
Some theoretical knowledge.

 He’s everything and nothing like she thought,
But he can never know
And she will leave with nothing to remind her
Save some quirky notes,
The aftertaste of his cocktails
And old songs she doesn’t know the name of.

 She flies away,
With just an innocent pair of air kisses
On her reddened cheeks,
A flustered fluttering in her heart
And the memory of his farewell salute:
Jaunty-angled...

33 degrees...
Or perhaps just more than 90.

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