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So we sat, you and I.
Across each other,
in that coffee shop
by the unchanging window
in that sweltering weather.
The afternoon sun shining
outside, looking in.
Drowsily passing away time
while the sunbeams sat still
on the window sill.
Fanning themselves
looking at us, ourselves
too lazy to move,
stewing like beef on a stove.
And we sat, you and I.
A couple of old cats
cooking in the sun.
A pair of meat roasting, well done.
Turning this way and that
not really knowing where we’re at.
Looking at each other — flat.

Then she came, stilettos and all.
Skinny jeans, tube top with a view.
Oozing with sizzling mojo,
more than any man can chew.
She came, tight buns and all.
Standing magnificent and tall.
Jiggling in the right place,
sultry nights written on her face.
And I wondered,
Shall we still sit …
you and I together?
Afraid to leave this zone forever?
I saw you look sideways,
discreetly … perhaps lustfully.
And the fire rose in me,
the burning of a hundred summer days.

So I got up, alone.
Told you to watch out for ants
and tipped coffee on your pants.
I know you totally flipped,
but I didn’t care.
For the first time I dared
to walk out into the sun,
outside, where it all begins,
forward ….
Not bothering to look back or in.
Striding along in my plain white shoes.
Going wherever I choose,
beyond that shop
over walls,
with my no-frills top.
And the sunbeams
— they were not sitting still.
I could see them
spin, twirl and swirl.
I could feel them
and their contagious thrill.
And if I listen well ….
I could hear them
cheering me loud and good.
And I have to admit,
I’m not missing you.
I would if I could,
but really, I’m all good.