Natasha Wright

To the Dark-Haired Stranger on the Bus

I woke up late. 

I’m unkempt. 

Had happenstance crossed our paths yesterday instead,

I would be smiling at you, coy,

irresistible. 

Our affair must begin--

and end-- over the top of my newspaper.  You  

shall be my imagination’s lover.  My brain crush. 

I’ve undressed

and redressed every millimeter of you,

twice now.  I’ve tasted the syrupy whole of your heart,

bit into the plush of your bottom lip, candied

and sweet.  We’ve braided our limbs and

swam in each other’s fears --

all between stops.

We’ve been swallowed by intimacy. 

I’ve owned you.

 I’m

resetting my alarm clock,

waiting for the magnetics of our parallels to warp, bend,

converge our lives once more

so that I can say  hello.