The Story of how I met you

November is a perfect month to trail

a man from the ends of the earth. An

excellent cold evening that chills you

with some desire to talk about everything

you knew you would. It was like meeting

myself again as your hand lightly touched

my shoulders and my pants glittered a little

too much. I suppose you catch every movement

like a butterfly net.

You have those eyes that see through me

and hands that absolve me of all my sins.

Make sure you remember the story of

how I met you for it will differ from

your version, I am sure. You must have

seen me in a dark corner somewhere

not in a hotel lobby.

You must have missed me when I drove

by Saint-Laurent and you were

window shopping.

I see everything with this third eye

of mine. I am cursed

to remember every little

sound you made

especially when your mouth

was pressed up against my cheek.

You are a gentleman

for walking me

I know.

I would have turned around

but that would have changed

the whole romance

of it all.

And now look at all the poems

I can write

from just one night.

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10 thoughts on “The Story of how I met you

  1. “there is a loneliness in this world so great
    that you can see it in the slow movement of
    the hands of a clock.

    people so tired
    mutilated
    either by love or no love.

    people just are not good to each other
    one on one.

    the rich are not good to the rich
    the poor are not good to the poor.

    we are afraid.

    our educational system tells us
    that we can all be
    big-ass winners.

    it hasn’t told us
    about the gutters
    or the suicides.

    or the terror of one person
    aching in one place
    alone

    untouched
    unspoken to

    watering a plant.”

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Love this, Christina. I always love the ones with the deep romantic feelings…and always with your language and word choices like sprinkles on top of the poetic sundae.

    Beautifully written. ❤xxx

    Liked by 1 person

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