Nafisa

I'm not see to myself as hers, she says.
She smiles. Her cigarette smoke
Arabesquing toward the sky. The sun
Has gone. The air is cooling. Cars
In knots, commuters leaving work
For home, are passing by. Their
Lights are on. There are no others
Seated at the tables on the terrace
Here. The season's wrong. I'm
Not to see myself as hers. Another
Does. I guess we're done. I feast
Again, a final time?, upon the
Features of her face: its Arab
Beauty, hollow cheeks and chestnut
Eyes; I've never even seen her
Hair. She finishes her cigarette,
And rises, says she has to go.
She waves goodbye, and then
She's gone. I stay, still clearly
Hers.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 53 times
Written on 2014-10-09 at 15:16

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