The Way Of Love

Sweaty palms, and cheap cologne,
two hearts that skip a beat.

The anxiety paces,
while I spit in the street.

I light a cigarette,
catching a glimpse into one eye.

The pupils flicker a greenish tint,
while the rest is a hazelnut mocha.

I hail a cab,
thinking he is gone,
but when I glance his way, I notice him approach.

I drop my lighter,
it bounces in a rain puddle.

He coughs a familiar hack,
while I struggle to bounce back.

On my feet, I wait for his line,
but he bypasses me altogether, to hug a familiar face.

In my head I imagine our bodies meet.

A single touch,
his lips taste like heat.

The stubble against my shaven face,
the pompadour slickly gelled in place.

Dressed to the nine's in a pea coat, collar up.

I watch, my dream lover
wishing,
hoping,
for once,
lovers lies would erupt.